Unforgiving Temper (13 page)

He was forced back to the floor, pale and
trembling from his exertions. In another moment, his alarm
escalated to true panic when the knock sounded again, and was
followed by a hesitant opening of the door.

“Father?” Jane inquired cautiously.

“Jane!” he answered weakly.

“Father!” she cried at the sight of him on
the floor. She flew to his side instantly, tears of apprehension
filling her eyes. “You are ill! Lie still, I shall get John at
once!”

“No, wait!”

Not hearing his feeble objection, Jane ran
from the room frantically summoning their manservant, “John! John!
Come quickly! Mr. Bennet is ill!”

Mr. Bennet lay motionless on the floor
listening to the house come to life with Jane's cries of alarm. As
the news of his collapse spread, he could hear Mrs. Bennet's
shrill cries above stairs demanding to know what had happened. His
eyes went again to the odious letter resting on the carpet in plain
sight. The room would very soon be filled with people. People who
must not find it!

He groaned in a renewed effort to retrieve
it. Pushing with all his might against the dead weight of his
useless limbs, he managed to move a little closer. He again reached
out with his left hand only to be forced back down by the
nauseating dizziness that enveloped him. Not close enough! He
struggled to move another inch, panting with exhaustion, straining
every muscle to reach the letter, and was rewarded when trembling
fingertips brushed the edge. Once more and he would have it, but he
had to hurry!

Spurred on by the sound of John's heavy
footsteps entering the house, he gathered his strength for one
final attempt. They were almost here! He took a ragged breath and
pushed once more, managing only an inch closer, but it was enough!
His trembling fingers reached out to claim the letter just as
Mrs. Bennet burst into the library.

“Oh, Mr. Bennet! What has happened? You
cannot die! What will become of us!” she wailed, sinking down
beside him. The swish of her skirts swept the letter away, carrying
it beyond his reach and he fell back in despair.

In the next instant, confusion filled the
room as Jane rushed in with John and Mrs. Hill, followed closely by
Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, the girls all falling down around him in
tears. Mr. Bennet watched helplessly as the flurry of skirts
sent the letter flying again and again, and he could only pray that
it would go unnoticed in the tumult.

With his wife fluttering uselessly over him,
shrieking for someone to do something, Mr. Bennet could no
longer defy the heaviness in his eyes and let them close. As he
sank further and further down into a dark pool of nothingness, he
heard the sound of Mrs. Hill's voice sharply dismissing the
hovering servants with orders to fetch the physician at once.

* * * *

Jane tapped gently on the door to her
father's room. “Dr. Heaton? I have brought the cloths and cool
water you asked for,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice from
trembling.

The door quickly opened and the doctor took
the items from Jane.

“Thank you, Miss Bennet. Is your mother
settled?”

“Yes, sir. The draught has finally taken
effect and she is sleeping. Mary is with her now.” She craned her
neck anxiously to see into the room. “How is my father?”

The doctor gave her a compassionate smile. It
was plain to see she had brought the tray herself instead of
sending a servant so that she might have a chance to see her
father.

“He has had a serious attack, but is holding
his own for now. This next day will tell me more.”

“Will he recover?”

“It remains to be seen what the extent of his
recovery will be,” Dr. Heaton replied evasively, and fresh
tears began to well in Jane's eyes. “I will know more after
tomorrow. I have written instructions for a compound that might
help. Why don't you stay with your father a few minutes, while I go
talk with Mr. Jones?”

Sitting in the stillness, Jane listened to
her father's labored breathing and studied his quiet form. She
noted the sagging lines that pulled at the right side of his face,
and her tears spilled over. She reached out and gently traced one
of the lines, only to snatch her hand back in surprise when his
eyes fluttered opened.

“Jane…here,” his garbled words came out soft
and rasping.

“Yes, Father. I am here.”

“Where…doc-tor?”

“Dr. Heaton has gone for a few minutes.
Shall I get him?”

“No! I…You. Must…tell…you!”

“Please do not try to speak,” she begged
tearfully. “You must stay quiet now.”

“No! Lis-sen…to…me,” he insisted, struggling
to make himself understood. “You…do…now. Right…now!”

“Yes, Father, anything; but please, you must
not excite yourself this way!”

Panting from his efforts, Mr. Bennet
pressed on. “Li-br-ry…fl…fl…floor. Let-ter. You…f-find. No…one…see!
Na…no…one! Bur-r-rn…it! D-do…not read. Do…n-not…sp-eak…of it.
Tell...no-o…one. You…m-mu-st…y-you…mu-st…”

“Yes, yes - I shall find it, right away; but
please, Father, calm yourself.”

Dr. Heaton's return ended the
conversation and Jane quickly excused herself, anxious to ease her
father's agitation as soon as possible. She hurriedly descended the
stairs and slipped into the library unnoticed. Inside, the eerie
silence of the room revived those first horrible moments when she
had seen her father sprawled on the floor, and the tears flowed
once again. Brushing the wetness from her cheeks, she forced
herself to concentrate on the purpose of her errand. With a
determined air, her eyes passed over the sword lying on her
father's desk and searched the floor for the paper that had made
her father so anxious.

It did not take long to discover the single
sheet of paper lying against the bottom edge of the bookcase. Jane
snatched it up and ran to the fireplace, laying it on the grate
with trembling hands. Stirring the embers from the morning fire,
she found a small lump of coal that still glowed faintly and
positioned it beneath the grate. Gently she breathed on the ember,
until it flared to life. She blew a shaky breath again and again,
forcing the tiny flame upward until it licked the edge of the
letter. In another moment, the letter burst into flame. Watching
the paper twist and curl in the heat, Jane gasped when she glimpsed
the words
“our secret love”
as the letter was consumed.

As soon as the fire died out, Jane stirred
the last bit of burnt paper to unrecognizable ashes. Doing her best
to hide her astonishment at what she had seen and its implication,
she hurried back to her father's room. Dr. Heaton looked up
from his work when she entered and gave a reassuring smile before
silently turning back to the task of packing his small black
physician's box. Cautiously, Jane sat down next to her father. The
lightest touch of her hand on his arm was enough to open his
eyes.

“Did you…was it…” Mr. Bennet glanced
furtively at the doctor as he struggled to speak.

“Yes, Father. I have done as you asked,” she
answered softly.

“Good. Very good,” he sighed, relaxing into
his pillow.

“He probably does not make much sense right
now. I have given him something to help him sleep,” explained
Dr. Heaton. “He needs rest more than anything else at this
point, but you may stay if you wish, Miss Bennet. Please send
for me right away if there are any changes.”

By the time the doctor gathered his things
and made his departure, Jane's father was sleeping soundly. She
remained by the bed, sitting in the gathering darkness for some
time. At last she rose from her chair and wandered to the window,
the clock in the hallway chiming the hour as she stretched the
stiffness from her shoulders.

She stared at the nearly-full moon hanging in
the night sky and wondered,
Where are you, Lizzy?
She had
gone looking for her father to get directions so that she might
write to her sister and now everything was changed. Her beloved
father was desperately ill and the mystery of the burned letter and
its shocking contents weighed heavily on her mind.

Laying her head against the window casing,
she released a heavy sigh and shivered as clouds drifted across the
sky, obscuring the moonlight.

“Oh, Lizzy, you must come back. We need you –
I need you!”

* * * *

Mrs. Pennwyth stared thoughtfully at the
letter on her table. The hand was elegant and obviously a woman's.
It was curious. In the twenty years her husband had worked as
steward for the Bennet family and the five years since his death,
she had never known William Bennet to be so secretive as he was the
day he made her promise to tell no one of the letters that would
pass through Granley Cottage.

Whatever his reasons, it was none of her
business what a gentleman did on the side, especially one married
to a woman like Mrs. Bennet. Hearing a knock at the door, she
placed the letter in the drawer of a side table, and hurried to
answer it.

“John! It's good to see you, but I had
thought to see Mr. Bennet today.”

“Yes, Mrs. Pennwyth, I know; but
Mr. Bennet won't be coming,” he apologized, handing her a
basket. “You have a nice cut of pork this week.”

“I thank you, and I'm sorry for
Mr. Bennet's absence. I hope all is well at Longbourn. Shall I
see him next week?”

“No, ma'am. I don't think so. Mr. Bennet
has taken ill.”

“My goodness! What happened?”

“He was found collapsed in his library four
days ago. Dr. Heaton was called in, and for a while it seemed
Mr. Bennet was in a fair way of recovering; but during the
night he took a turn. He is much worse and can't speak as could be
understood.”

“How terrible! Is it the end for dear
Mr. Bennet, then?”

“We don't know. The doctor has done all he
can. He says we have to wait and see. It's in God's hands now.”

“Poor Mr. Bennet! Poor Mrs. Bennet
and the girls!”

“It's a sad state of affairs all around, I
say. Well, I best be getting back now, Mrs. Pennwyth. I bid you
good day.”

“Yes, yes, of course!” she exclaimed, lost in
her thoughts. “I thank you, John, for bringing the basket. It is
most welcome, as always. Please convey my condolences to the family
and do let me know of any more news.”

Watching John turn down the lane, Mrs.
Pennwyth returned to the side table and opened the drawer. Staring
at the letter, she wondered aloud, “What am I do to with you
now?”

* * * *

“Well, Darcy, tell me,” Bingley sat down
across the breakfast table from his friend, “was it as bad as you
thought it would be?”

“Good morning, Charles,” Darcy smiled as he
took another sip of coffee.

“I did try to smooth the way a bit. I sent a
note to Caroline suggesting she moderate her, uh,
sentiments
during the journey. I know she can be quite trying at times.”

“I appreciate the effort, but I am afraid it
was ineffectual. Your sister scarce drew two breaths the entire
time,” Darcy smirked. He refrained from expressing his amazement at
how one woman could talk so much and convey so little. “The journey
was a little more than Georgiana expected. She has not had much
experience with that level of conversation.”

“Living with you, I can imagine not!” Bingley
quipped good-naturedly.

“And what of you? Was your return to
Hertfordshire as bad as you thought it would be?”

“I am pleased to say it was not. Everyone has
been most cordial.” Bingley's smile waned. “Miss Bennet seemed
happy to see me; but there is a definite reserve in her manner and
conversation. It is not quite the same as it was.” He drew a quick,
fortifying breath. “Understandable, I suppose, given how abruptly
things ended last November.”

“Yes, understandable,” Darcy flinched at the
reminder of the fruits of his interference, “but it sounds like she
has not shunned you all together and you have made a good
beginning. If you remain steadfast and prove your constancy to the
lady, I believe you will be rewarded.”

“It is not as simple as that. There are other
circumstances that have complicated the matter.” Bingley paused a
moment as if unwilling to continue, then finished in a rush of
words. “I discovered yesterday that Miss Bennet has been
misled into believing I am romantically connected to your
sister.”

“What?” Darcy snapped. “How did she get such
an idea?”

“Caroline,” Charles replied flatly. “I gave
my utmost assurances that it was not the case, but I am uncertain
if Jane believes me.”

Darcy let out an involuntary growl. “Bingley,
I realize you have a certain duty to your sister, but you really
must find a way to check her. I must be clear, I tolerate her less
than desirable behavior toward me for the sake of our friendship;
however, I will not allow it to extend to Georgiana – here or
anywhere else. If your sister does not amend her ways, I shall be
forced to withdraw Georgiana from her influence.”

“I hope it will not come to that; but you are
quite right, Darcy. I intend to speak with her this very morning
and put a stop to all this nonsense.”

Darcy eyed his friend skeptically. “I hope
you can.”

“She will – ” Bingley began.

“She will what?” Caroline inquired as she
swept into the room, giving Darcy a brilliant smile. “To whom are
your referring, dear brother?”

“Good morning, Caroline, Louisa,” Bingley
greeted his sisters coolly. “I trust you slept well?”

“Yes, as well as can be expected in the
country. Entirely too many twittering birds for my taste. You look
so stern, Charles; apparently you did not sleep well.”

“You are right, Caroline,” Louisa pronounced
solemnly. “He does look a little off this morning! Brother, you
must allow me to have Mrs. Middleton make up a sleeping draught for
you. It is one Mr. Hurst uses frequently, and I daresay it is most
effective.”