One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (44 page)

Darcy wandered back to the dinner room, which had been cleaned and restored to its normal order. He then returned to the adjoining salon, which had not been disturbed since he had taken Elizabeth upstairs. Closing the door behind him, he went in and sat upon the chaise where she had rested, placing his head in his hands in a tormented moment of despair. It was then, with his head hanging low, that he saw it on the floor. That little white cloth he had last seen clasped in her hand before she had fainted had been lost by its owner and delivered yet again to his hand. He unfolded the crumpled handkerchief and spread it out on his leg.

The last time he had spoken to Elizabeth of it, he had hoped for her to tell him that the design had been purposeful, that she had sewn the initials E.D. intentionally, but tonight, looking at it with an honest eye, he knew that she had not. No, Elizabeth had not consciously crafted it as a fond hope sent into the ether. Instead, he now knew that if the constellation in the handkerchief were to mark a particular destiny, he must imbue it with that meaning himself by doing all in his power to fulfill it. As soon as she was well enough to see him, he would propose to Elizabeth Bennet, beg her to relieve his torment and consent to be his wife.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Effects of Interference

J
ane dozed, slumping in exhaustion against the side of the bed next to where Elizabeth lay. The night had passed, and the soft light of morning gradually lit the room as the last candle on the bedside table sputtered with its final flicker of flame. Elizabeth moaned and shifted, awakening Jane enough for her to hear the soft clicking of the doorknob as someone tried it from outside.

Jane was instantly alert and hurried to the door, hoping that it was Mr. Bingley on the outer side. The knob rattled again, and she undid the lock and opened the door a crack, to peer into the dim corridor. She saw not Charles Bingley but, instead, Anne de Bourgh, wide-eyed and anxious, peered in at Jane, then cast her eyes over her shoulder, as though fearful of being seen. Having apparently satisfied herself against that worry, she pushed urgently against the door, and Jane stepped back instinctively, reluctantly allowing her entrance. Anne turned and locked the door behind herself before speaking to Jane.

“Miss Bennet, how is Elizabeth? I could not sleep for worry! I begged the housekeeper for information when I awoke, and she informed me that Elizabeth had taken ill and was not to be moved, that indeed, you were both still at Netherfield, and that Mr. Darcy had sacrificed his room for her comfort.” Anne spoke rapidly, in hushed tones. “Pray, tell me, and do so quickly else I too may faint from fear for her! What is her condition? The last I saw of her in the dinner room, she looked very ill indeed.”

Jane looked soberly at Anne. Her naturally trusting nature wanted nothing more than to believe that Anne's concern was genuine. “She is not well at all, Miss de Bourgh. A fever holds her in its grip and has done so all this night long.”

“Oh!” Anne cried with distress. “I suffered from such a fever once and recall the fearful pains and terrible dreams it brought. This is most unhappy news indeed. She must be made well!”

“Mr. Jones gave us every reason for hope when he saw her. My sister is strong, and she is not prone to illness.” Jane smiled courageously. “She shall be well; I believe she shall with all my heart.”

“Miss Bennet, you look dreadfully tired.” Anne took Jane's hand. “Have you been up all night with her? Someone must relieve you. Shall I call for a maid?”

Jane shook her head vehemently. “That will not do at all. I must keep vigil with my sister until the crisis is past, for I cannot trust it to anyone.”

Elizabeth began to murmur and shift in the bed, prompting Jane to return to the bedside. Jane raised her up gently as she pressed a glass to Elizabeth's lips, urging her to take a few sips of broth. She freshened the cloth that had fallen from her sister's forehead and dabbed it against her cheeks first, then placed the cool compress again across her brow.

Anne watched from where she stood by the door. Her hand covered her mouth as if to suppress all the horror she felt, as Jane tenderly nursed her sister. Suddenly, Elizabeth began to thrash about, her mumbling more pronounced. Jane hushed her, but it was to no avail, for Elizabeth did the thing that Jane most feared. She called, clearly and plaintively for Mr. Darcy. Not just once, but three times she cried out before she began to sob, and her words became unintelligible once more.

Jane looked at Anne with trepidation.

“I can plainly see,” said Anne calmly, “why a maid will not do to sit with her. Your sister would not wish the household to hear of this.”

“No.” Jane shook her head gravely. She walked across the room and took Anne by the arm, whereupon she walked her to the furthest corner of the room, and with their backs turned to Elizabeth, Jane made her case. “The fever has stirred such talk in my sister as she would never utter if she had her senses about her. She knows much more of the world than I ever thought, Miss de Bourgh. She has broadened her mind with extensive reading and is, no doubt, the wiser for it; some of the things she has spoken this night would be certain to shock her relations! To this, I must add the fear, which you have just heard for yourself, that in the hidden world of her heart, she holds certain feelings for your cousin, Mr. Darcy. I have heard of your engagement to him and am sensible of the distress this may cause in such a case as yours. I must beg you to preserve my sister's reputation and speak of this to no one.”

“First,” said Anne prudently, “we may better take this conversation to the private sitting room that adjoins the bedchamber.” She opened a door that Jane had assumed led to a closet, which revealed not only a very comfortable room but also a table that already had a breakfast for Jane on it. The two women stepped into the room, and with a look back through the crack to make certain Elizabeth was all right, Jane closed the door most of the way, barely leaving it ajar. “Second,” Anne continued, “it must be established that I am not engaged to Mr. Darcy. Third, my greatest hope at this moment is that your sister will be well again. She must abandon this notion that she must suppress her feelings for my cousin.”

“Miss de Bourgh, you cannot be serious.” Jane gaped at her. “My sister maintains propriety in all that she does and guards her deepest feelings with care, as any proper young lady does.”

“My cousin also guards his feelings well—too well sometimes,” Anne said. “It is an admirable quality, of course, that his emotions are under good regulation, but in this case, it is simply not to be borne, not when he has such a hope of happiness.”

Jane frowned. “It is a hard thing to love someone, I suppose, when one wonders if the sentiments are requited.”

Anne smiled pensively. “I loved a man once, nearly ten years past. I was persuaded by my mother to pretend that I did not, for she maintained that he was only interested in my fortune.” Anne sighed. “It broke my heart when Mr. Fellows went away. He was convinced by a lie that I did not love him and that I was soon to marry Mr. Darcy instead. I fell ill not long after he left, and
 
I wished that I would die
to end the suffering of my broken heart. I had not the will to rally my spirits against that dreadful fever.”

“Oh, I am so very sorry.” Jane clasped her arm in sympathy. “Did you ever hear from him again?”

“Yes, I did.” Anne replied quietly. “He lives but eight miles from Rosings on an estate that is about the same size as your family estate of Longbourn. He married a woman of small fortune, and she bore him three beautiful children. She died in childbirth giving him a son some three years ago. Several months ago, he called on me, I believe with the thought of renewing his addresses. My mother was furious that he had the presumption to raise his eyes to me yet again, and she drove him away.”

“He came back, all those years later? How remarkable!” Jane sighed. “Do you still love him?”

Anne shrugged. “I hardly know—it has been so long now. I confess that when I saw him at Rosings, standing up to my mother, that moment of hope was the greatest happiness I have known in many years. So you see, you must allow me to help you care for Elizabeth, to restore her to health, for as long as we remain at Netherfield. I do it to spare others the sorrow that befell me.”

“I did not expect this of you, Miss de Bourgh. I am at a loss for words.” Jane replied. “But you have already done me a kindness by showing this sitting room to me, for I can feel at far greater ease admitting persons to this room while maintaining my sister's privacy in the other. If I may, I would prevail on you to find Mr. Bingley and send him to this room.”

“I will do whatever will be of help.” Anne curtseyed to Jane. “I will summon Mr. Bingley now and return shortly to sit with Elizabeth so that you may rest. You many depend on my silence as to anything I hear in this chamber.—I am ever so grateful that I may be of some small service to my friend Elizabeth.”

~*~

Morning dawned too early for the remaining females at Longbourn the day after the ball. The rooster crowed, but they did not stir. The morning sun, low as it was in the sky, had chased the shadows away, but drawn curtains were sufficient remedy for that inconvenience. Breakfast was cold on the sideboard before the bedraggled Bennet sisters and their mother faced the day.

Mr. Collins and Mr. Bennet had long since broken their fast and made some good use of the morning hours, although they too were moving slower than the usual pace.

“What word from Netherfield, Mama?” Kitty asked quietly. “Will Lizzy and Jane come home today?”

“Hill just handed me the letter, for heaven's sake! Kitty, give me a moment before you begin your pestering!” Mrs. Bennet broke the seal and read parts aloud as she skimmed through it. “Elizabeth is too ill to be moved ... Mr. Jones la, de, da ... send clothing for Jane....” She looked up from the letter—”Well, that at least is good news. Perhaps with Jane at Netherfield, Mr. Bingley will get on with the business of proposing to her as he ought to have days ago!” She returned to the letter. “Clothing for Elizabeth ... la, de, da ... they do not know how long it will be ... the footman will wait la, de, da.” She folded the letter and laid it on the table. “It is very clever of Lizzy to become ill while at Netherfield, for her sister's sake. Of course, it is just a trifling little fever and she will be well soon enough, but we must make the most of it while we can. Hill!”

While the requested articles were being gathered and packed by the maid, a sharp knock was heard at the main door of Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet was surprised to hear it, for who would call the morning after a ball? She nonetheless left the dining room and instructed Hill to deliver the visitor to the drawing room. Upon entering the drawing room, she found that Mr. Collins already occupied the room, quietly reading. She greeted him and then turned to discover who was at the door.

“Mr. Jones, the apothecary,” Hill announced solemnly, “has come to call on Mr. Bennet.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Bennet said impatiently, “Mr. Bennet is in the study. Take him there.”

Mrs. Bennet returned to the dining room and listened with eager joy as Lydia and Kitty regaled her with the pleasures of the ball. Suddenly, Mr. Bennet stood in the door, a deep frown etched on his face.

“What is the matter, Mr. Bennet?” Mrs. Bennet cried out with alarm. “Do not vex me with such a look, my poor nerves cannot take it!”

“I bear no good tidings today, Mrs. Bennet, but news of a serious nature. Mr. Jones has just informed me that our tenants, the Millers, also suffer from this fever, and that their baby, little Hannah was the first to be taken ill with it. She passed from this world during the night.” Mr. Bennet paused to determine his wife's understanding.

“Oh, the dear sweet child. She was such a favorite with the girls!” Mrs. Bennet said with detached sadness. “I will have Hill send them a pie, to console them for their loss.”

“Mrs. Bennet.” Mr. Bennet interrupted. “I must tell you that Lizzy was at the Miller cottage a few days ago and held the babe in her arms but a few hours before the fever struck the child.”

“Oh, my poor Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet cried, gripped suddenly with an awareness of his full meaning. “Is she also to die? Are we
all
to die of a fever in our beds? What are we to do, Mr. Bennet? What are we to do?”

Mr. Bennet appraised his wife for a full minute before he spoke. “Mr. Jones instructed me to ensure that we all drink a glass of elderberry wine before bed every night for a week and drink a cup of strong lemon balm tea as a tonic three times a day for the same. I have instructed Hill to send some in right away. I advise you to drink it.” Mr. Bennet looked over his glasses at his wife. “He also said to have cook use extra onions and garlic in our soup for several days at least. I know you despise them, but he assures me that this measure will help prevent the spread of the fever to this household. Mr. Jones returns now to Netherfield, where they will be informed of this development as well. The poor man has been up all night, I fear.” Mr. Bennet turned and went back to his study, leaving his youngest daughters to calm Mrs. Bennet's nerves.