“You are very cautious.”
“I have reason to be! This Miss Bennet has relations in town, and if she mentions to them that she has made the acquaintance of a Miss Darcy in Hertfordshire, it could raise questions I shall not wish to answer.”
“Does that matter now? It all came to nothing. We are only waiting for me to die.”
The air was driven from his lungs. He tossed aside the book and covered his face with his hands. His plan after the incident at Ramsgate was carefully plotted: tell everyone they had gone to Madeira for the sake of his sister’s lungs, and when he had convinced Georgiana todo what was necessary, they would resume their lives in England. But her health was not supposed to have worsened.
The door opened again, and Mr Jones was admitted before Darcy could convince Georgiana to not give up hope. The usual review of Miss Darcy’s colour, her activity, her evacuations, her pulse, and the listening of her chest followed. Mr Jones checked to be sure that the patient was properly ventilated and asked if she had taken any exercise. Meanwhile, Darcy stared out the window and wished he could block hearing all discussion of the matter produced by and expectorated from his sister’s weakened lungs.
“I have not recovered in the past six weeks as you had hoped, have I, Mr Jones?”
Darcy turned in time to see Mr Jones’s eyes soften as he looked at Georgiana. “We can be in no doubt, Miss Darcy, that this?—”
“Is there something in her constitution that might be to blame?” Darcy stepped nearer. “A physician in town suggested that the—that her previous condition made her more susceptible?—”
“I think it a local disease, sir, not one of her constitution. It is likely hereditary. Your mother died of it, I remember you saying.”
His mother had lived with consumption until she was forty. “Now that the other matter is no longer a hindrance, can we not travel to a warmer climate?”
“Oh, Fitzwilliam, no.” Georgiana drew back and shook her head. “I have neither the strength nor the courage for a long voyage. The pain of even a carriage ride would be unendurable.”
Darcy ignored her and stared at Mr Jones, awaiting his answer.
“I question whether the virtues of a warmer climate in arresting the progress of diseases, such as Miss Darcy has, have not, in general, been based on insecure data.”
“Another physician suggested that after she—that we could then travel to Madeira or the West Indies before her disease advanced.”
The compassionate look in Mr Jones’s expression hurt more than any blow he had ever taken. “In some cases, a gravid state can have no injurious influence on the course of pulmonary consumption; but, in my experience, that is rare. In Miss Darcy’s case, the progress of the disease has not slowed since she?—”
“Are you saying the progress of her existing lung affliction washastened? The physician said that once she was delivered, I could take her to a warmer climate and she would improve!”
“Miss Darcy’s lungs are ulcerated, and I fear tubercles are deposited.”
“A more nourishing diet? More moderate, or full of animal food?”
“My dear sir.” Mr Jones stepped forward. “I do not think her diet or the climate are relevant any longer.”
When the apothecary laid a gentle hand on his arm, Darcy threw it off with a glare. Mr Jones stepped back, but his pitying expression remained. Georgiana rose and stepped in front of him, as though he might advance on the man in his anguish.
“Fitzwilliam, it is not his fault; it is not the physicians’ fault; it is not your fault. We have both known I am not recovering from this disease in my lungs. I am beyond the reach of your medicines, am I not, Mr Jones?”
“Many in your condition live for months, Miss Darcy, some for years. I cannot speculate yet that you would be amongst the former rather than the latter.”
“But you can do nothing for her?” Darcy kept his attention on Georgiana as he asked Mr Jones.
“On the contrary, sir. Exercise in the open air that excites her interest is still preferable. I shall continue the draughts to ease her cough and her pain. Rest as needed, freedom from anxiety, and preventing her spirits from becoming depressed will all slow a decline.”
His sister had begun to cough by the end of this speech, and Mr Jones attended to her. Darcy paced the tiny, ugly drawing room, refusing to give in to tears in front of another man and in the face of his sister’s stoic acceptance. Before Mr Jones left, he and Georgiana talked of cod liver oil tonic for her weight and strength while Darcy’s heart broke.
My sister’s continued suffering is my deserved punishment for my unjustifiable thoughts.
It was not the fault of any medical man, nor was it Georgiana’s. He would have taken her to the West Indies had she been in a conditionsix months ago for a treacherous sea journey. She was too ill to travel now, nor could he risk returning home even if she was not in too much pain for even a carriage ride. They were supposed to be in Madeira, after all, and who would bring home a consumptive from a warm climate to die in England? There would be questions. Would it have made a difference had they been in a better climate all this time rather than disappearing into Hertfordshire?
Darcy knew whose fault it was.
“I am going to Ramsgate.”
Monday April6
