My dear Jane,
I am not surprised that you did not find my last letter very full of matter, and I wish this may not have the same deficiency; but we are doing nothing ourselves at Longbourn to write about, and I am therefore quite dependent upon the communication of my friends, or my own wits. Charlotte Lucas will not return for another month, and I find that I am without
“Lizzy, make yourself useful and help with the linen.”
Elizabeth quietly groaned at the sound of Mary’s voice. “I am writing to Jane.”
“One ought to show gratitude to any who maintain a woman after she has reached an age when she ought to be prescient of her duty to her family and marry. I am tending to young William, and I need you to finish these shirts.”
Young William was just above one year old, but Elizabeth suspected he would continue to be an ungovernable, ungracious little fellow as he grew older. That could be due to his mother’s “tending” going only so far as to not immediately pull away when he clung to her skirts to pull himself upright. He was tugging on his ear and howling, and Mary seemed to feel that her son’s being in her presence was all the tending an infant cutting a tooth might require.
“I suspect the shirts can wait until I have finished my letter.” Elizabeth was sick to death of sewing shirtsleeves for Mr Collins.
“The rank and wealth of those who maintain her exact a duty froma spinster sister, and in fact mayjustlyexact it.” Mary always made it clear who had the rank and the wealth, and who did not. “You might complete your letter writing before breakfast as I do. To do your duty to your family is to be an industrious woman.”
“How could I finish my letters before breakfast when you have decreed that is the only time when I may play your instrument?”
Elizabeth threw down her pen while Mary glared at her in silent indignation. Knowing further words on her part would lead to a quarrel, Elizabeth quit the room.
It was so hard to be a dependent, single woman. She felt entirely powerless. She was a poor, unmarried woman, and according to many, that meant she did not deserve to be regarded or even respected. Elizabeth had a disagreeable sensation building in her chest, and she knew where it might lead. She was stopped at the stairs by the footman, who handed her a note from Netherfield Lodge. Miss Darcy had, with her brother’s permission, sent her a lengthy letter of gratitude.
“Lizzy! Do you know I am to go to South End with Jane’s family this autumn?” Lydia called from the floor above. “You must tell me how best to get on with Mrs Cuthbert.”
“Jane is your sister?—”
“No, I mean Robert’s mother.” Lydia descended the stairs and stopped yelling. “Jane would rather stay at home in the evening whenever she can, and it will be her mother who works to get me a husband like she did for Kitty.”
“Mrs Cuthbert is a large, loud woman with self-satisfied manners. Her son can do no wrong in her eyes, and since Jane is a pretty and dutiful wife who gives him sons and does not cross her, she likes Jane just as much. You would do well to admire her grandsons no matter how they try your patience.”
“As long as she puts me in the path of Robert’s rich, single friends and any other men she knows, I can pretend to like what she likes well enough. I practised flirting amongst the militia regiment—though most were too poor to satisfy me—and I refuse to return to Longbourn as a single woman. How have you tolerated failing to get a husband for so long?”
Elizabeth’s heartbeat began to palpitate. “I am going for a solitary ramble.”
Elizabeth might have crossedover meadows and stiles had she been going to the great house, but the most direct path to Netherfield’s lodge was along a lane. The mounting pain in her chest was gone by the time the lodge was in sight.
It was nothing to Longbourn, more like a modest parsonage in need of some attention, but that did not prevent her from leaving her card. She had to wait a long while for her knock to be answered, and when the door opened, it seemed that visitors were few and rare, as the maid seemed unsure as to what to do.
“You cannot mean to call on the master, even if he was still here.”
“You continue to mistake me. I understand Mr Darcy has a sister. If Miss Darcy is not at home to visitors, I will leave my card.”
A hacking cough came from behind the maid, who told her to wait and left her not in the hall but outside. Elizabeth, more bemused than insulted, waited. She was told to come through to a parlour where on a sofa reclined a girl no older than Lydia. She might have once been a full-formed girl, but her body looked emaciated, her face thin, and her eyes sunken.
“Forgive me for not rising, Miss Bennet. Please, sit.”
Elizabeth shook herself out of staring at her sickly form. “Forgive me for being presumptuous in both writing to you and intruding on your privacy. I had the pleasure”—she gave a little falsehood here—“of meeting Mr Darcy, and he admitted that your indisposition left you wanting for amusement. Knowing but a little of what that might be like, I hoped to provide you some diversion.”
Miss Darcy’s cheeks turned pink, a stark contrast against the pallor of the rest of her skin. “I was too frank to admit such a thing.” She then said nothing, although whether from shyness or the same rudeness that afflicted her brother Elizabeth could not say. After another moment she added, “My brother is generous and takes excellent care of me.”
“I did not mean to presume you lacked any attention a dotingbrother could give. I am now to learn that you have been here six months but have had no company. I wished to do what I could to be a friend to a fellow dependent sister.”
“I have been…isolated, due to my illness. Fitzwilliam does what he can to keep me well and content.”
Elizabeth acknowledged this, even if she did not believe it of the man who had spoken unkindly to her at the apothecary shop.Although now I can imagine why Mr Darcy was impatient to speak to Mr Jones.The silence stretched out, and Miss Darcy did not seem to want her. Elizabeth feared she had done more harm than good by coming. She rose to leave. “I ought not to have presumed that my conversation or company might be wanted. You have my best wishes for good health.”
“You are exceedingly kind!” Miss Darcy cried. She tried to speak again but coughed so hard that Elizabeth crossed to the sofa to help Miss Darcy sit up. After placing a pillow behind her, she rang for the maid to bring a glass for Miss Darcy. By the time it came, the fit had subsided, and Miss Darcy laid her head back against the pillow with her eyes closed.
“Shall I leave you now? You must be wanting to rest.”
