“Ah, well, it is complicated, is it not?” she smiled. “My father was an antagonist by nature—teasing was sport, to him. He loved nothing better than to poke fun at difficulties, and mock silly rules or silly people he could not change. His philosophies were often sceptical. But he was always willing to…to hear my questions, hear my doubts, share in my own frustrations. He might make a joke of them, but he never blamed me for having any, or criticised me for failing to find peace in the ways most others can.” She stopped speaking suddenly, as if she had said too much.
She probably had, but truthfully, only if she were trying to lure a husband—most men wished for a biddable, peaceful sort of wife, and she had nearly admitted to ‘kicking against the pricks’, as the Bible named her condition. However, he wasnotlooking, and there was nothing in her manner to suggest that she was, either. It was astonishing to find that they had drifted into such depths of conversation, however, and he abruptly changed topics.
“Stoke is what—five miles from Netherfield? A very long distance, without a carriage.”
“A bit more than six,” she admitted. “I hope you do not believe my motivation in making the journey any discredit to the care my sister has already received. Her fears of illness are well known to me, and spring from the deaths of my younger sister, Catherine, and then my father. I possess the same fears. I do not believe in any latent weakness in the Bennet heart, but I wished to find reassurance as much for myself as for Jane. I am extremely grateful for Mrs Hurst’skind invitation that I might remain with her, and do not expect any more attention than has already been expended.”
She applied herself to her plate with a certain earnestness, and he almost felt her unspoken words:I want no one’s attention.There is nothing to notice here. Look away, look away.
Civility compelled him to acquiesce, and to leave her in peace.
Very quickly after the meal, she excused herself; she did not return, only sending word that her sister had worsened and she would remain with her. He enjoined Miss Bingley to cease her abuse—which had begun the moment Mrs Ashwood exited—and instead to attend her sister in visiting their ill patient. They returned once coffee was served; Miss Bingley immediately began harping again on Mrs Ashwood’s supposed flaws, but Mrs Hurst appeared concerned, several times glancing towards the ceiling. Hurst, naturally, only cared about his game of loo, but thankfully kept Bingley occupied enough that he did not notice his eldest sister’s anxiety.
Darcy could hardly mind his cards. “Do you think we ought to call Jones back?” he asked, once he had the opportunity of speaking to Mrs Hurst when the others were all occupied.
“No,” she replied slowly, thoughtfully. “Perhaps if she is not improved by morning.”
If she is not improved by morning, Darcy thought,I will send for Mr Miller in town.His personal physician was very much an improvement, in Darcy’s opinion, over the old family physician who had treated his father, emphasising cleanliness and sensible, intelligent medical reasoning. He would be far better than a simple apothecary.
It was only logical. If anything happened to Mrs Collins,the disruption at Netherfield in general and to Bingley in particular would have been prodigious. If the thought also occurred to him that Mrs Ashwood had already experienced far too much sorrow and distress in her young life, and ought not to have another grief laid at her door, Darcy brushed it aside.
6
ACCIDENTALLY TEMPTED
The night was a long one. Jane wakened at midnight, wishing to use her chamberpot, then becoming so dizzy she nearly fell off of it. She tried to eat a few bites of broth, and then spent an hour casting it all up again. A half an hour later, the dizziness returned, along with other unpleasant symptoms which necessitated the constant removal of the poor, abused chamberpot. Elizabeth did not lie down in the bed provided for her in the next room, and except for a few brief minutes spent at the end of Jane’s mattress, she did not sleep. By dawn’s early light, she was beside herself with worry, and determined that she would beg the next servant who entered to ask that a message be sent to Mr Jones.
However, with the sunrise, Jane’s slumber grew peaceful. By the time Molly arrived, offering to help Elizabeth change from her borrowed nightgown, Elizabeth was feeling more confident in recovery. When Mr Bingley sent a servant toenquire after Mrs Collins’s health, she was happy to report her opinion that the illness was running its course at last.
Her dress, which Molly had returned to her, had been more carefully brushed and freshened, but of course it was nothing like the garments in which the Bingley sisters would be clad. A small part of her old pride reared up, wishing she had been wearing something not quite so unfashionable when Mrs Heartly had sought her out, but quickly, she laughed at herself instead. The dress was serviceable and the dark fabric did not show stains easily—it probably looked a good deal less shabby than one of her better dresses might have fared, after that cart ride on muddy roads!
Mr Ashwood had been generous in her clothing allowance; she had an ample wardrobe which, if not any longer the height of fashion, was more than adequate for the life she had planned. If, once in every now and again, she wished she might go to the dressmaker’s or browse for ribbons—as she once had done in what seemed terribly long ago—well, the urge quickly passed.
Sacrifice in the present for the future I want, she told herself.Venice, perhaps?
“Lizzy?”
Jane’s voice recalled her to the now, and she hurried back to her sister’s bedside.
“I am right here. Are you thirsty?” She reached for the pitcher.
“No.” Jane shook her head.
“How do you fare, dear? Do you feel able to ingest something more substantial than barley water?”
“Not quite yet, I do not think. But I am better, I am certain.”
Elizabeth nodded, and took the seat again near Jane. “Rest is the best medicine at this point, I believe.”
Jane nodded; it seemed easy speech disintegrated in that moment as she twisted her sheets between her fingers in a motion she once used to do—just before confessing her girlhood secrets to Elizabeth in those days when they had shared a room at Longbourn. Elizabeth had the sudden feeling of…rapprochement, such as they had not shared in so, so long.
She nearly held her breath, not wanting the spell to break. Was Jane about to begin a conversation?I would gladly forget harsh words uttered long ago, no matter the hurt they caused.
It is silly, even, Elizabeth thought,that we have allowed our breach to go on so long. I was shocked and hurt; I can guess why she said what she did, what came before it. But what she thought afterwards, what she thinks now, is all unknown. She has not been hostile since my arrival.
Jane opened her mouth as if to speak…then closed it again.
Confrontation had never been in Jane’s character. Her linens twisted within hands grown white-knuckled.
