“She—Caroline—knew she was ill and did nothing?” With each new revelation—no fire, no gown, a scullery maid sitting with her—Bingley’s face shifted from confusion to disbelief and finally to something Darcy had never seen from his friend before–real, slow-burning anger.
He nodded in satisfaction at his friend. “Precisely. Mrs. Nicholls was the one who arranged everything. She even took it upon herself to send a note to Longbourn and another to the apothecary.”
Bingley’s mouth opened, then closed again. His complexion had gone pale, then red. He took a few quick steps toward the hearth, turned around, and paced back again.
“She knew. SheknewMiss Bennet was here, ill—and she didnothing.”
His voice had changed—no longer incredulous, but low and tightening with each word. He planted both hands on the edge of the mantel and bowed his head for a moment, as if mastering something that threatened to break loose.
“I cannot believe—” he began, then stopped himself, straightening with sharp, jerking movements. “No. No, Icanbelieve it. She has done petty things before, but this—Darcy, this is not just petty. This iscruel.”
“She likely hoped you would not learn of it,” Darcy said evenly. “Or perhaps she thought you would not care.”
“Well, she was wrong!” Bingley’s hands curled into fists, and he looked ready to charge up the stairs. “I shall speak to her now—this minute—she cannot treat someone like that and expect me to—”
Darcy reached out and caught his arm. “Bingley. You might wish to take a moment. You will have more success if you do not barge into her room shouting.”
Bingley stopped, breathing heavily, and shoved a hand through his hair again. “She never listens to me. Never has. Does whatever she wants and I let her—for peace, I suppose. But this? This is not something I can—” He broke off, pacing to the window and back again. “Miss Bennet could have been—what if she had—how could Caroline—”
Darcy let him vent in silence. He understood the feeling.
“I do not even know what to say,” Bingley said finally, his voice raw. “She will twist everything, as she always does.”
“Then use this time to decide what you will say,” Darcy said gently. “Plan it. Let her know, calmly but clearly, that this crosses a line.”
“I cannot do it alone,” Bingley said after a pause. “She will talk over me, make light of it. But if you are there—she’ll know I am not jesting. She listens toyou.”
Darcy hesitated. “It is not my place—”
“You are my friend,” Bingley said simply. “I have no father, no elder brother. Just a few uncles still in trade who cut ties with me when I sold the warehouse. It’s just Caroline and Louisa. I know I ought to be able to handle them, but—”
He trailed off, his shoulders slumping. For a moment, Darcy saw him not as the cheerful master of Netherfield, but as the very young man he still was—only twenty-one, newly rich, newly landed, surrounded by people who pushed him from all sides.
Darcy remembered being twenty-one. Remembered wondering how he would survive managing Pemberley on his own. And he had not been alone. He had still had Lady Anne. And Georgiana. And his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, who had swept in and ensured he did not drown in paperwork and false flattery after his father’s death.
He exhaled. “Very well. I will be there.”
Bingley’s shoulders straightened. “Thank you, Darcy.”
“Take some time. Eat. Drink coffee. Be prepared.”
“I shall. I want to be very clear-headed when I face her.”
“And I will support you.” Darcy clapped his friend on the back. “Come, let us get you breakfast.”
∞∞∞
Elizabeth had just finished coaxing two spoonfuls of brothbetween Jane’s lips when a knock at the door made her start. Mrs. Nicholls entered quietly and curtsied.
“Mr. Jones is here, miss. I told him you’d be wanting to see him straight off.”
Elizabeth rose at once. “Please send him in.”
A moment later, the apothecary stepped into the room with his familiar worn leather bag and a professional calm that instantly steadied Elizabeth’s nerves. Mr. Jones was a small, neat man with wisps of gray at his temples and a manner that hovered between brusque and kind. He greeted her with a nod, then moved at once to Jane’s bedside.
“Good morning, Miss Lizzy,” he said with a gentle smile, which she returned with relief.
He asked a few quiet questions while checking her pulse and lifting one of her eyelids. Jane stirred only faintly.
