“Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you for taking care of my sister.”
Mrs. Nicholls gave a brisk nod, though her expression softened. “It was no great trouble, miss. I may not have much say in the drawing room, but I’ve full charge of the sickrooms and kitchens—and I was hired by the owner of Netherfield, not the present tenant. So, I answer to the lease, not the ladies. That gives me some… liberty.”
Elizabeth could not help smiling, despite her nerves. “I hope it also gives you security. You’ve certainly earned it.”
The housekeeper sniffed. “Mr. Bingley is amiable enough. Very young, though. And as I’ve only known him these few weeks, I cannot speak to his steadiness.”
Elizabeth nodded, then said quietly, “Well. I suppose this situation will give us all a glimpse into his true character. His actions when he hears what his sister has done will reveal what lies beneath his cheer.”
Mrs. Nicholls glanced sideways at her but said nothing.
They passed the main staircase and turned into a narrower hall, one clearly less used, the rugs thinner, the sconces spaced farther apart.
“I’ve put her at the end of this corridor,” Mrs. Nicholls said, almost apologetically. “The room is small, but that meant it would warm quicker than the others. And it is—” she hesitated delicately, “—out of Miss Bingley’s way.”
Elizabeth stopped walking. “You mean to tell me that Miss Bingley did not intend for Jane to remain at all? That she meant to send her back—last night? In the rain? In the dark?”
Mrs. Nicholls gave a tiny nod. “When I saw the expression on your poor sister’s face as she stood at the front door, awaiting her horse, I knew I could not in good conscience allow her to leave like that.”
“She stood at the door alone as well? Her hostess did not remain to see her off?”
“No, miss.”
Elizabeth stared at her, fury rising like a tide. “Thank God for you, Mrs. Nicholls.” And without thinking, she reached out and took the older woman’s hand. “Truly.”
They reached the end of the corridor. Mrs. Nicholls opened the door gently, and Elizabeth slipped inside.
The room was indeed small, but a fire glowed cheerily in the grate. Jane lay curled under the blankets on a narrow bed, her face flushed, her fair hair damp with perspiration. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, and a faint smile curved her lips.
“Lizzy,” she whispered.
Elizabeth was at her side in a heartbeat. She knelt beside the bed and pressed her palm to Jane’s forehead. It was burning.
“Oh, dearest,” she murmured. “You should never have come out in that rain.”
Mrs. Nicholls crossed the room and adjusted the blanket. “I’ll send up a tray with more willow bark tea and broth… alongwith another maid to tend to any needs you may have. Sally, you go rest.”
Elizabeth blinked in mild surprise as a young scullery maid, heretofore unnoticed, rose from her chair in the corner. “She never complained once,” she said of Jane in an awestruck voice. “Though she coughed something fierce. I gave her as much tea as I dared.”
“You did very well, girl,” Mrs. Nicholls said with an approving nod. “Now, off to bed with you.”
Sally yawned as she curtsied, then rushed from the room. Mrs. Nicholls gave a little sigh and raised her eyes heavenward. “She’s got a good heart, that girl,” she said to Elizabeth apologetically, “though her manners need a bit more improving.”
Elizabeth nodded absentmindedly, her attention still focused on her sister as she brushed the damp curls back from Jane’s temple. “May I trouble you for a basin of cool water and some cloths? And I should write a note to Longbourn for the carriage—”
Mrs. Nicholls cleared her throat gently. “Begging your pardon, miss, but I wouldn’t rush to call for the carriage just yet. Let the apothecary have a look at her first. Mr. Jones may not think she should be moved.”
Elizabeth hesitated, her hand still on Jane’s arm. “I understand your concern, but I hate the thought of her being somewhere she is not wanted. It is hard to be ill, and harder still to feel like an imposition.”
The housekeeper folded her arms. “Just wait, if you please, and see what Mr. Bingley says after Mr. Darcy speaks with him.”
Elizabeth exhaled and nodded, walking the housekeeper to the bedroom door. “Very well. But only for a few hours. If Mr. Jones has not arrived by then, and Mr. Bingley has notpersonally offered his hospitality in addition to an apology, we will leave.”
Mrs. Nicholls nodded her understanding, then gave a curtsy and left the room. Elizabeth resumed her place at the bedside and took her sister’s hand once more. Her sister stirred, murmuring something unintelligible, and Elizabeth smoothed her hand over the blankets in a silent reassurance.
Her thoughts, however, were far from quiet. She was still reeling from what she had discovered—and from what she had not expected.
How could this have happened?
