When he was allowed to sit beside Jane for brief periods, he became very still. He held her hand and spoke to her in a lowvoice about ordinary things, as though she had merely closed her eyes to rest and might answer him at any moment. Elizabeth heard him describe the changing weather, a book he thought she might enjoy and a new puppy in the stables. But she saw the wear of those days upon him in the shadows beneath his eyes and the fear that returned to his face whenever Jane's breathing changed.
Dr Parodi appeared to require even less rest than Mr Bingley. He slept in brief snatches in a chair in the adjoining room, waking at the slightest change in Jane's breathing, and examined her so often that Elizabeth began to recognise the pattern of it. He methodically recorded each change in a small black notebook he carried in his coat pocket, counting Jane's pulse, listening carefully to her breathing and checking the heat of her skin before making another neat entry with his pencil. Through it all, he remained calm, even when Mr Bingley pressed him for answers he did not have or Caroline delivered trays and refused to leave him until he had eaten something. At some point during the second day, he recommended a draught for Mrs Bennet's nerves, which had the happy effect of soothing not only her but the entire household.
Only when he believed himself unobserved did the effort show in the way he pressed his fingers against his eyes or stood for a moment with both hands braced upon the washstand.
Elizabeth learned with some astonishment that Dr Parodi had been practising independently for only six months. She would never have guessed it from his assured manner. He never pretended to know more than he did or offered comfort he could not honestly give, but there was such confidence in every decision that the household had begun to trust him without question. Even Mr Jones, who returned the following morning looking ready to defend his treatment, left after a long private conversation with the younger man, assuring the family that the good doctor knew what he was about.
Even through her exhaustion, Elizabeth began to notice something curious between Caroline and Dr Parodi. More than once, she looked up to find one watching the other, only for them to glance away. Caroline seemed to know what he needed before he asked, often appearing with fresh linen or another candle at just the right moment. He always thanked her politely, but there was something in the way he looked at her that Elizabeth could not quite understand.
It was towards dawn on the third morning that hope arrived at Netherfield. Elizabeth had been sitting beside Jane for so long that the shadows around the room had begun to blur into all manner of strange creatures. Caroline slept in the chair by the fire with her head tipped awkwardly against the wing, while Dr Parodi stood at the window making another entry in hisblack notebook. Mr Bingley had been persuaded to rest in the adjoining room, though Elizabeth thought she could hear him pacing beyond the wall.
Jane stirred beneath her hand. At first, Elizabeth thought it was no more than another restless movement, but then her sister drew a deeper breath than she had managed in days. Her eyelids fluttered and a faint sound escaped her.
Dr Parodi was beside the bed almost before Elizabeth could call his name. He pressed his fingers to Jane's wrist, then bent close to listen to her breathing. Caroline woke at the movement and came quickly towards them, her eyes heavy with sleep. "Thomas," she said sleepily, and Elizabeth blinked at her stupidly. Who was Thomas?
Dr Parodi made a small noise of triumph and her head snapped towards him. "What is it?" Elizabeth asked. "Has something changed?"
Dr Parodi did not answer at once. He checked Jane's pulse again, then laid the back of his hand against her forehead. The silence stretched until Elizabeth could hear nothing but the blood rushing in her ears. At last, he let out a slow breath. "Her fever is completely gone and her chest has eased substantially."
"She will recover?" Caroline asked in a trembling voice.
Dr Parodi looked towards her. The exhaustion in his face softened, and for the first time since his arrival, Elizabeth saw something close to relief break through his careful composure. "I believe she has an excellent chance."
For a moment, Elizabeth only stared at him. Then the meaning of his words reached her and she started to sob with relief. The tears came with such force that her whole body shook and she dropped into the chair beside Jane, resting her forehead to her sister's hand. It felt cool and smooth beneath her skin. Caroline's arm came around her shoulders, while Dr Parodi stepped back to give them room.
The door opened behind them and Mr Bingley appeared, his hair disordered and his coat hastily pulled on over an unfastened waistcoat. He looked from Elizabeth's tears to Dr Parodi and went white.
"What has happened? Jane, oh God… has she?"
"Her fever has broken," Dr Parodi said, resuming his usual calm countenance. "She is not entirely out of danger, but she has turned towards recovery."
Mr Bingley crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees beside the bed. He gathered Jane's hand between both of his and pressed it to his lips, his whole body shaking with the force of his relief.
"My dear Jane," he whispered against her fingers. "My dearest Jane."
Her eyelids fluttered.
"Jane?" His voice broke upon her name.
Slowly, her eyes opened and found him. For a moment, she only looked at him, as though his face were the one thing in the room she recognised. Then the faintest smile touched her lips. "Charles," she breathed.
He made a broken sound that was half laugh and half sob. Elizabeth turned away, overcome by the tenderness of it, and found Caroline watching her brother with tears running silently down her own face.
Jane's gaze moved weakly past him. "Lizzy," she whispered. "What has happened?
Elizabeth spent the next half an hour explaining the events of the last few days before Dr Parodi shooed them all from the room, insisting that Jane needed undisturbed rest. For once, she did not argue. Now that she knew her sister was out of danger, it was as though all the fatigue she had held in check hit her like a wave. Her limbs felt heavy and even the short distance to the door seemed an impossibly long journey.
Mr Darcy was sitting upon a chair in the passage, his long legs stretched before him and his head bowed over his clasped hands.At the sound of the door, he looked up and rose so quickly that the chair scraped against the wall.
His gaze moved over her face. "Elizabeth?"
"She is well," Elizabeth said.
The words trembled upon her lips. She took one step towards him, then another, scarcely aware that she was moving. "Jane is well."
Relief swept across his face, softening every stern line of it, and Elizabeth tried to smile. Instead, the passage tilted beneath her feet.
Mr Darcy reached her before she fell. His arm closed firmly around her waist, drawing her against him, while his other hand came up to cradle the back of her head. Elizabeth's cheek struck the warm wool of his coat and she felt the sudden, powerful beat of his heart beneath it.
