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Though the Christmas season at Longbourn was usually a festive time, this year's celebrations were tinged with discontent. Mrs. Edward Gardiner, a favorite aunt of the eldest Miss Bennets, had noticed a chain of events that happened each time Mrs. Bennet thoughtlessly mentioned Netherfield or its absentee master, Mr. Charles Bingley: first Jane Bennet would catch her breath, as though she were trying to calm herself, then Elizabeth would either reach or look over to her sister in reassurance.
Clearly, Jane, the most sedate, genteel, deserving young woman one could imagine, was suffering from a severe disappointment, and her mother, though she cared greatly for her daughters, did not have the tact or disposition to understand that each reminder of the situation brought pain upon her daughter.
After speaking with her husband and brother-in-law, Mrs. Gardiner issued an invitation to Jane to accompany the Gardiner family when they returned home to London at the beginning of January. Certainly, the deep winter held more beauty in Hertfordshire, but London had its own attractions and entertainments. A change of scene might be just what Jane needed to move lift her bruised spirits.
Elizabeth and Jane discussed the possibilities of London well into the evening the night before the Gardiner's departure. Jane felt it polite to write to Caroline Bingley once she was in town.
Elizabeth believed that her sister had been ill-used by the entire Bingley family: the brother had pretended a deeper affection than he had and the sisters had, no doubt, abused Jane when she was not present, just as they did everyone else they felt beneath themselves. Jane, who had conducted herself with propriety and trust throughout the entire autumn, was left broken-hearted and open to the whispers of the whole community as a result of her failed romance and the subsequent treatment she had received at the hands of the Bingleys. Elizabeth thought the Bennet family would do well to forget the acquaintance of the Bingley family, but she knew that Jane thought the best of everyone, and wished to politely extend the hand of friendship to Miss Bingley - they were, in a manner of speaking, neighbors, and the proper action would be to contact them. In the end, Elizabeth concurred with Jane and counseled her only to be careful.
Turning the conversation to London in the winter, Elizabeth pleaded with Jane to pick up some of the newer editions of verse that she had heard of, and some sheet music. Jane smiled and said she would add it to the list of ribbons, buttons, sermons, and other trinkets that their other sisters had requested. Gently laughing at the relatively harmless absurdities of their family, the conversation eventually turned to utterly ridiculous Mr. Collins and his very new wife, Charlotte.
Lizzy hoped that Jane would be home before Lizzy went to Kent to visit the Collins family. As much as Jane was looking forward to her London trip, she thought that it highly likely she would be home well before Elizabeth went away in March.
Elizabeth was looking forward to her own visit with a mixture of feelings. Charlotte was her best friend. Lizzy still could not believe that Charlotte, sensible Charlotte, had felt such pressure in her situation that she had accepted the strange Mr. Collins. The wedding, which had occurred the day previous, had been a very quiet one, with few attendees. Mrs. Bennet had tried to forbid her own family from attending, but Mr. Bennet countermanded that, asking what she could have to gain by alienating the heir to his estate. So, the Bennet clan had attended, and Elizabeth had waited and waited for her friend to deny the vows, to turn and walk away. But she hadn't.
It had been an autumn of severe disappointments for Elizabeth Bennet. She, who acknowledged the folly inherent in all people, also believed that goodness would ultimately triumph over any folly. Yet, this season, she had seen so many situations which had sorely tried her philosophies. The actions of the gregarious and seemingly innocent Mr. Bingley and of her dear friend Charlotte had disturbed her view of the world.
Sighing, she turned back to Jane and began another gentle conversation - this time about the tenants and poor of the community. Usually, Jane and Elizabeth shared the burden of visiting all these families through the winters. This year, since Jane would be gone, Lizzy thought it was time to bring Mary into the fold. Lizzy would dearly miss Jane's company and conversation, but knew that this change would do Jane much good. The two sisters talked well into the night, knowing it would be the last time for many weeks that they would be able to do so.
Promising to write, Jane hugged her sister one last time, then retired to her own chamber to sleep.
So it was that Jane Bennet accompanied the Gardiners to London in the first week of the New Year. Christmas and the New Year had brought many visitors, families, and friends to the Meryton area. Any of the militia who were fortunate enough to get leave also went to visit their own families and friends. One of these gentlemen brought back with him an unexpected and undesired gift: a highly contagious fever.
The damp of an unusually cold Hertfordshire winter along with the crowded, unsanitary conditions of the militia encampment were perfect conditions for the spread of the disease. Within a fortnight, the number of sick began to worry the command of the militia, especially as the blight had spread to some of the local populace.
The fever was one of a strange variety. It raged, then abated, then, when it seemed as though the patient would get better, the fever would rage again. By the beginning of February, the fatalities had begun to mount.
The very young, the old, and the infirm were the first to fall. But, as several of the strong, young men in the militia had also fallen victim, it was decided to put a quarantine in place. Contact to the outside world was limited to those who had no illness under their roofs, and the community prayed to their God to take away the horrible plague that had been visited upon them.
The following is a sample of the post that was written to and from the stricken region of Hertfordshire during the winter fever of 18--.
January 23
Dearest Jane,
I write this to you in the hopes that you and all of our family have arrived in London and are settling in for the long winter.
The rooms of Longbourn are cold and damp; the snow outside does not seem to know that it is not welcome. How I long for the days of spring, when the first shoots of green break through the sod to greet the warm sun. But, spring only comes when winter ends, and this one seems as though it will be long.
I do not tell you this to distress you, but distress you I must. Illness has come to Meryton in the form of a fever. A significant portion of the militia rank and file troops have been infected with the illness. It may be that all will be well in a matter of days, but I find that my spirits are greatly troubled. I attribute this malaise to the fact that Lydia and Kitty have been forbidden to visit Meryton til such time as the sickness is declared over. They have been taking out their frustrations on all of the other occupants of this household, and I fear that Hill may finally follow through on her threat to abandon us all.
Pray for your sister's patience, Jane, as I do not have you here for your wise counsel on forbearance.
Do let me know all of the news from Cheapside. Love to Aunt and Uncle and all our cousins.
Yours &c
Lizzy
January 29
Dearest Lizzy,
I long to hear news of home - are you certain all of you are well? I do not think that father would be willing to lock his youngest daughters indoors without great necessity. Our young cousins are all well, though suffering from the same lack of outdoor activity that all house-bound children share. Between us, Aunt, Nanny, and I contrive to keep them entertained. They are truly wonderful, and if I am ever blessed with a family of my own, I hope to have children much like them.
I have been to the bookseller and purchased the editions you asked for. The bookseller seemed to want to talk a great deal to me, and recommended several other books that I might like based on the ones you had me purchase. Mr. Greeley was a very nice gentleman, and even gave me one sample that he had of a new book of verse. It is not something I shall read, however nice the gesture; the novel that Aunt Gardiner gave me is much more to my taste. But I believe you shall like it. Mr. Greeley was such an uncommonly nice young man. Uncle Gardiner agreed, though he teased me that Mr. Greeley was acting more as an admirer than a shopkeeper, but I know that could not be the case. It would not be proper, and Greeley and Sons is a very proper kind of shop.
Will you be surprised when I tell you that I plucked up my courage and called on Caroline Bingley when Aunt Gardiner was making a call in the same neighborhood? She was home; Mrs. Hurst was there with her. They have a very fine home - though it is much grander than anything I am familiar with. I think the furnishings must be of very high taste. They were both exceedingly courteous to me. They mentioned that Mr. Bingley was out of town and likely to be for some time. I do not believe that I blushed when I stated that I was sorry to have missed his company. I am determined not to be sorry, though. You would be quite proud of me, Lizzy. I did mention that there was illness in Hertfordshire, and he may want to investigate and make sure that his property was unaffected. However, as he has only let Netherfield, he may not feel any inclination to do so. Though they were quite polite, I did feel rather nervous being in such a fine home in only my day-gown. So I took my leave as soon as I properly could.
I do not believe I shall hear from them again. Though it is proper to return a call, I recall that they were a bit alarmed at the address of my Uncle's home.
I am glad for it to all be behind me. This novel is quite diverting, and I have begun work on a chair cover that promises to be very fine when done. Please write back to me soon, dearest Elizabeth, and assure me that all is well with our dear family. I shall be home soon, and will help with all the tenants and our sisters and mother, who I am sure is not taking these trying times well.
Love to all,
Jane
January 30
Dearest Elizabeth,
Greetings from Kent. We have arrived and settled and I am quite satisfied at my current situation, I assure you.
Our house is a humble one, but Her Ladyship has spent much effort on our part to make it more comfortable. I have a parlor that I have claimed as my own: it looks out upon the woods of Rosings, and I can often see bird and beast as they pass by. I am in my parlor now, writing this to you, sipping a most excellent cup of tea.
I so enjoy running my own home. It is such a relief to me to not be a burden to my parents any longer.
Mr. Collins and I endeavor to get along well. He is kept much occupied by the inhabitants of Rosings, the members of his congregation, and his various correspondents. I have met Lady Catherine and her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh and have been duly impressed. I believe I can tolerate their condescension very well.
There is one particular piece of interesting news I wish to relate to you, Lizzy. Lady Catherine and I had been speaking about the various acquaintances,. Somehow, I do not quite recall the precise details of the conversation, but Mr. Wickham's name was mentioned. You can imagine my shock when Her Ladyship replied furiously that his name was not to be mentioned again in her household.
Of course, she went on to tell all sorts of tales, of how he ran up debts wherever he went and expected her nephew, Mr. Darcy, to cover those debts due to an old family connection. She told of how he had been offered a living, but refused it for money which he promptly gambled away. Even more shocking, I gather that he may have tried to impose himself on Miss de Bourgh at one point, though that is merely supposition on my part, based on comments Lady Catherine made. You may remember that Miss de Bourgh is promised to your Mr. Darcy. (Say what you will, Lizzy, he watched you with too much interest to consider you a common, indifferent acquaintance.)
There, now I truly feel like an old married woman - revealing juicy pieces of gossip in letters to old friends. I hope that it does not hurt you to hear such things of your favorite.
I miss you, my friend, and anxiously await your coming to visit in March.
Your friend and source of interesting tidbits
Charlotte Collins
February 2
Edward,
I write this letter to you as a request to keep my eldest daughter with you a while longer. We have had, as you have no doubt heard from Jane, an outbreak of fever in Hertfordshire. Meryton is now under quarantine.
This fever seems to be particularly contagious and, for lack of a better term, vicious. I will spare you further details, though Fanny and Mrs. Phillips will no doubt provide sufficient accounts in their own letters. Your sisters have a particular penchant for melodrama.
We have been blessed at Longbourn with immunity thus far. My biggest complaint is that my port stores are running low, and the quarantine will keep my latest shipment from coming in with due haste. The sacrifice!
We are managing to keep ourselves quite busy. Though we miss the company of others, we have managed to muddle along. Mary has very considerately provided us with daily sermons, so we feel as though every day is Sunday. By the time this quarantine is lifted, I will have been through a full month of Sundays, as the saying goes. I now know how long it truly is.
I have gone on longer than I should, brother. Give my Jane a pat for me; reassure her as you can. She is a good girl. Greetings to your family
Thomas
February 12
My Sweet Jane
Happy Valentine's day to my loveliest sister! I do miss you so, Jane, and hope that London, nasty Bingleys aside, is treating you well.
I am sorry that I have not written so very often. The fever has hit our area very hard, and of course this means Mama's nerves have quite outdone themselves. I am afraid that poor Kitty has had to bear the brunt of this, as Mary and I have been working very hard trying to keep the tenants well fed and clothed and as calm and happy as they can be, in the circumstances.
A side effect of this is that Mary and I have become very close in the last few weeks. She is gaining compassion from this experience that she seemed to lack before - she speaks more to comfort than to lecture, and even her playing has reflected a greater depth than it did before. Kitty is also learning patience, sitting with Mama through the day, reading to her from novels or simply drawing or stitching while Mama complains. The three of us have endeavored to keep the household calm in this trying storm.
I have not mentioned Lydia. Lydia seems to keep more to herself these days, declaring that Mary, Kitty, and I are too priggish to be tolerable. Honestly, I do not understand how she can be so unaffected by what is happening around us.
The streets are eerily quiet, Jane. The shops are closed. Very few people walk about. Healthy children are being kept home. The number of healthy children, though, is very low, as this vile illness seems to strike our weakest and most precious friends. I fear when it is done there will be few under the age of 7 and fewer over the age of 50 left in all of Hertfordshire. Though, people may begin to recover. I must not lose hope.
We have come to an arrangement: the militia control the quarantine, marking the homes of the sick, keeping visitors out of the area and keeping residents here, to try to contain the illness. They also make sure that the post continues and we still get supplies. I cannot imagine our situation if we did not have these lifelines.
We gentry have all banded together to make sure that supplies are distributed. The stores of all the manors are open for the tenants, most of whom have suffered from the fever. We are all doing as needs must - I even took an axe to wood, Jane. I have much more respect for James than I did before - chopping wood is very difficult, indeed.
When we do have time to sit together, all of our talk is of the poor souls who have perished and all who have been affected by this plague. Poor Mary... yesterday we found out that little Timmy Avery died. Mary had become ever so attached to him.
There has been so much suffering, Jane. And it has come on so quickly. Forgive me for burdening you so, but we feel so isolated here, and I have been left to be the strong one for my sisters.
I cannot speak of it more.
I was writing of Lydia. I did catch Lydia coming into the house - the second time this week! - from out-of-doors yesterday. She insisted that she was simply getting some fresh air. It does not seem in character for her, yet all of our characters are so changed by our current circumstance. And I have come to greatly question my own ability to sketch a character in the best of times, Jane.
I have news on a common acquaintance of ours from two different sources. It seems that when Charlotte mentioned a certain regimental officer to her husband's patron, a great deal of fuss was raised. This man was no gentleman, but was instead a wastrel and a cad. I read this missive with interest, but considered that the source was certainly the same source who had, I thought, blackened this officer's name before.
Much to my surprise, it has come to light that this same officer may have spread the disease to others outside our community - he has abandoned his post and fled the vicinity. It seems that he would not risk his own health to protect that of others here. This is not the behavior one would expect from one who would aspire to be a minister of the faith. He left under the cover of night, and he lightened the pockets of several of his fellow soldiers - both the living and the deceased - before he departed. Incidentally, he left behind huge debts to the local tradesmen, several gaming debts, and many broken hearts. You can guess that, though the Meryton grapevine is greatly diminished, it rang with the tales of the dread W... I shall not write his name. Suffice it to say that I am reviewing the entirety of my acquaintance with that man, as well as any particular opinions I formed based on his lies.
Oh, Jane. I do not know myself. When I think of how I practically accused Mr. Darcy of wronging that man - how much affront must he have taken? Thinking back on the events of last autumn, I find I must have been mistaken the entire time! Mr. Darcy was, of all of our new acquaintance, the only one who acted with honesty. Our general company (and my looks, in particular) may not have been to his liking, but not once did he lie or dissemble in order to mislead anyone. He caused no harm. When I think of how I treated him, Jane!
Charlotte, I see now, was not so blind to his good qualities as I chose to be. If she was correct about that, perhaps she was also correct in reading his intentions toward me. He did follow my conversations and seek out my own opinions several times. He did ask me to dance. These were compliments of the highest order, and I spurned them. Oh, I do not believe that anything would have ever come of it - he obviously held himself too far above us all. Except perhaps I could have enjoyed time spent with a man who was obviously intelligent and witty. Instead, I chose to believe a pretty face and gilded tongue.
I am filled with shame that I not only misread so many of our acquaintance, but that I acted as I did. Truly, I can think of few times when I was acceptably polite to Mr. Darcy. I am mortified by my own behavior.
There. I feel better having related the whole of this sad tale to you. Oh, Jane, I do miss you so! I understand why father keeps you in London for the time being. I do envy you the company of other people! I would give much to be able to converse with a new face, or listen to a musical performance that was not mine or Mary's. But so long as we all at Longbourn stay healthy, I have much to be thankful for, and remain
Your devoted sister
Lizzy
February 20
Edward,
I am sorry to be the bearer of unhappy tidings: The sickness has breached our home.
It seems that somehow, Lydia has been exposed to the fever, and has taken to bed with the symptoms. Fanny has insisted that Lizzy nurse Lydia. I am left with little choice but to isolate the two of them in the small cottage at the back of the property. I cannot risk the rest of the family and house staff becoming ill.
There is some good news, however. The number of new infections has dropped dramatically. Restrictions should begin to be lifted in a week or two, at which time I shall write again.
Keep my dear girls in your prayers, Brother.
Yours &c
Thomas
February 26
Dear Lizzy,
I know you are under quarantine there, and cannot send word out, but I cannot believe that they will not allow messages in. And I know that you need all the encouragement and support that we can give.
Oh, that I were there to help you! My heart aches to think of you alone, taking care of Lydia. I hope that she is a better patient than she was last spring! I am sure, however, that as she is such a strong girl, she will recover soon. Having been the lucky recipient of your nursing skills in the recent past, I know that you will do all you can to make her feel better.
We had surprise callers today. Miss Caroline Bingley and her sister Mrs. Louisa Hurst returned my call today. It has been over a month since I went to call on them, but I suppose them to have been very busy. In fact, they were quite surprised to see that I was still in town, but took the chance whilst they were in the neighborhood.
They asked after you all, and I told them that the sickness in Hertfordshire had worsened, and that our sister was now ill. I could see that they were quite worried. I assured them that all would be done that could be, and that they should be thankful they had removed from the country before that sickness struck. They agreed with gravity.
Though they did not accept an invitation to tea, I felt that this visit was pleasant. Still, I was relieved when they alighted into their carriage.
March is quickly upon us, and London has lost any appeal for me that it ever had. I am longing for the vistas of Longbourn, hoping to soon be back with all of you, smelling the fresh country air and spending time with my sisters.
Take care of yourself, Elizabeth. I am still your elder sister, so you must do as I say. I would not lose any of my family.
Your worried but loving sister,
Jane
March 6 - express post
Dear Mrs. Collins,
That eponym sounds so lovely, Charlotte. Your father and I are excessively proud of you, and we thank the benevolence of our creator that you were taken from Hertfordshire before this dreaded winter set in.
Be not alarmed at this express. We are all well.
Things are beginning to calm. We have lost a number of our populace, and the militia numbers are much thinned, but the number of people getting sick seems to have diminished greatly. Thank providence.
I do have some very disturbing news for you, my dear. Not all of our friends have been so fortunate through this trial. The Phillips are all fine still, but the Bennets have not fared as well. Word came through this morning that Miss Lydia has succumbed to the fever. She passed yesterday and will be honored with several others in the mass ceremony to be held next Sunday. Such times as these, where funerals are done in plural. Such times, Charlotte.
I am afraid that is not the whole of the tale, either. Your good friend Elizabeth has now fallen ill, also. You would remember that she was nursing her sister morning through night with no help from any quarter. They were all too afraid of exposing others to the fever. I am afraid that Fanny will bury two daughters before the spring. I ache and grieve for her. I could not imagine losing any one of my precious children, and each day, I look on Maria with a combination of fear for her and thanks that she has been so far spared.
And now, dear Charlotte, I have a terrible request to make of you. Jane Bennet is staying with her family the Gardiners in London, at -Gracechurch Street. I know that you have stated you are less than half a day's distance from town, d you think that you would be able to go to Jane and let her know the news? The Bennets are under quarantine and the rest of us feel this news best given to her first hand if possible. I understand if your husband would rather you did not, but as he is their cousin, and you are such close friends with Elizabeth and Jane both, I feel perhaps he may deem it wise.
I am sorry to add that your father will not be able to bring Maria to you for another three weeks, and then they will not be able to stay long. We need able bodies here to help in the recovery and planning of the spring planting. I will only be able to spare the two of them for a short visit, but I fear they desperately need the change of environment. Maria has been working diligently with the other young ladies of the area. I am excessively proud of her. I am also in need of assurance that you are well, though, so come to you they will, even if just for a few days.
Give our love to your husband,
Mother
March 8
My Dearest family,
I hardly know how to begin this letter. Charlotte Collins came yesterday to tell us of the dreadful news.
Oh,Mama, how your heart must ache! I would that I were there to hold you and help you through this awful time!
Kitty, you and Lydia were always so close. I know you feel this pain so keenly.
Mary, Lizzy has written to me of how close you and Kitty and she had come through this trial. Lizzy spoke of how you had become so strong and compassionate, and how you, Kitty, had been such a comfort to Mama.
Papa, I know you wish to keep me away from home, where the quarantine is just now being dropped. But I beg of you, now that the quarantine has been lifted, please let me come home. Please let me come to Lizzy. I am now the strongest of all of us - I have not been toiling my fingers to the bone all winter. Please let me come home, I am needed and need to be there, to help and to grieve with you.
Your loving daughter and sister, who misses you all so terribly,
Jane
March 15
Jane,
It is the ides of March, and they say to beware of this time, but I write you with reasonably good tidings. Lizzy seems to have beaten the fever. The doctor has stated that she is beyond the infectious point, and should recover given rest and time.
Your mother does not want you to come home yet, as she still feels there is significant risk, and, as ever, she looks to you, as the most beautiful of our girls, to make her fortune.
Truly, though, Jane, there is a delicate balance in place at Longbourn presently. Your mother is not well, and I would not do anything to upset her. Her request that you abide in London is a small one. I know it is hard for you, but please consider that she has lost her youngest daughter, and is very difficult to console at this point.
You may be quite proud of your sisters, however. Mary and Kitty have quite become another Jane and Lizzy for me. They talk sense most of the time, and are quite pleasant to work with. Now, if I could only see the color come back to my Lizzy's cheeks, things would be almost well again. As well as they can be with a lost child.
God Bless you, my dearest.
Your Papa
March 23
Dear Jane,
Please ignore the scratchiness of this letter - I'm writing it under cover of night. If Mama discovers me, she shall be quite put out.
I am so sorry not to have written of this sooner, but I could not write what I wanted. Mama insists on knowing all we write, and would be very perturbed upon reading this letter.
Jane, Mama is not well .She has not been herself since poor Lydia passed. She accuses Lizzy of not nursing Lydia back to health on purpose. She accuses Papa of killing her favorite daughter. She accuses Lizzy of killing us all because she refused to marry Mr. Collins.
She refuses to let Lizzy rest, and refuses to let us nurse her. She refuses to let you come home because she knows that Lizzy longs to see you.
I fear greatly for our sister, Jane. She fell ill again with fever yesterday morning. She burned all day before finally responding to the cool flannels and willow brew. Though the fever lasted a shorter time this time, it took so much out of her. She looks as though she will waste away before us. I know you can do nothing, but we are forbidden to speak of it here. It is as though Mama wants her to die.
I do not want her to die, Jane. I have already lost one sister; I could not bear to lose another. Even now when she is ill, Lizzy brings out the laughter in all of us. She has been such a boon to Mary and me. I never thought I could cry so much, Jane.
We have bearded the lion in his den this evening, and Papa has agreed to take a desperate measure on Lizzy's behalf. I only hope it is not too late.
I know there is nothing you can do, but I greatly needed to talk to someone about this. And I felt you needed to know our situation. As hard as it is being here, I cannot imagine being separated from my dear family while this was all happening, Jane. You are never far from our thoughts.
Your grieving sister,
Kitty
March 25 - express post
Dear Cousin William,
I hope that you will forgive the shortness of the notice, but I would like to ask that my daughter Elizabeth may come to stay with you and your wife, as planned earlier this year.
I have spoken with your father-in-law, and he informs me that he and Miss Lucas plan to make the trip to Kent three days hence. I know that you have heard that Elizabeth has been ill, but the dangerous part of the illness has passed, and I am of the belief that the superior environment of Kent will help to bring her health back quickly.
If this arrangement is not acceptable to you, please reply at your earliest convenience.
Thank you,
Thomas Bennet
Easter fell at the end of March that year, and Fitzwilliam Darcy approached his annual pilgrimage to Rosings with a mixture of distaste and excitement. His cousin Richard had once again agreed to accompany him, and the two of them discussed any manner of topics during the carriage ride to Rosings, the home of their aunt, the formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
As much as he respected his aunt, Darcy could feel nothing but dread of his time in her company. Lady Catherine's irrepressible demand that he announce his engagement to her daughter had only grown in force over the last few years, and it was only Anne's insistence that this state of affairs was to her advantage that had prevented him from forcing the truth on his aunt long ago. He had no intention of ever marrying Anne, and she had absolutely no desire to marry him. Most of the time, the non-existent betrothal was forgotten by both Darcy and Anne, except when Darcy used it to hold back a very small percentage of the mothers of the ton from hunting him. But the trip to Rosings was torture, because he was hounded over these marital expectations daily.
This year was bound to be worse. After the disastrous autumn in Hertfordshire, Darcy had decided that it was time for him to marry. So, he had attended dinner parties, teas, and balls, all in the hopes of finding a prospective wife. The women had neither tempted nor entertained. They were truly barely tolerable, the entire lot of them. However, the fact that he had thusly put himself forward had certainly made its way back to Rosings, so his aunt was certain to be more demanding of his time and attention than ever.
Additionally, this year, there would be a new people attending her Ladyship's table. The parsonage at Hunsford was occupied by Mr. William Collins, cousin to the lovely Elizabeth Bennet, and the new Mrs. Collins, great friend of the same young lady.
Elizabeth.
He could barely stop himself from sighing like a lovesick fool at just the thought of her name. It had been four months - and he had only been in her presence for two! And yet, what had she done to him? He dreamed of her almost nightly, and thought of her almost constantly when awake.
He knew the Collins's would talk about her; indeed, the Bennets were one of the few topics of conversation he could imagine sustaining with them. And he steeled himself for whatever the news held.
A lovely woman like Elizabeth would not remain single indefinitely.
The news, when it came, was not, however, what he had expected.
"Darcy, come here. Sit beside Anne. Fitzwilliam, you shall sit here, next to me. Mrs. Collins, you sit next to Fitzwilliam. No, No! Mr. Collins! You cannot sit next to your wife! Over next to Darcy, if you please!" Once Lady Catherine was satisfied with the seating arrangement, the soup course was served.
Over the second meat course, Darcy looked up at Mrs. Collins, "Are your family all well, Mrs. Collins?"
Charlotte looked at Mr. Darcy sedately and replied with a cool voice, "Yes, sir, thank you very much for asking."
"Yes, yes, my nephew is all things considerate," Lady Catherine inserted into the conversation. "I am sure we are all greatly relieved to know that your family are all fine, Mrs. Collins. What a shame, Darcy, all that has gone on in Hertfordshire. I have often told Mr. Collins that he should preach to the masses that we should be thankful for our health. Though I cannot believe that such a situation would happen here in Kent. I am sure that there must be something... peculiar in the air of Hertfordshire to allow such misery to take root. Indeed, Mr. Collins has often said that there is much licentiousness in the general vicinity of Hertfordshire, due to the presence of a great number of soldiers. Yes, they have brought this illness onto themselves, with their behavior. One can never be too careful. Of course, people of our rank would never suffer so. We have a moral purity that makes it such that nothing of this magnitude can ever approach us."
She went on in this manner for a number of minutes, switching to a lecture on classes and circles that somehow enabled her to remind Darcy of what she expected of him with respect to her own daughter. Darcy heard none of it, though. His mind was dwelling on the fact that something of a terrible nature had happened in Hertfordshire. The bleak, tired look on Mrs. Collins plain features belied the idea that no one in Kent had been affected by this.
Easter dinner ground to a halt, and the Collins' excused themselves shortly thereafter. Richard looked at Darcy askance when he announced a while later that he was going to call on the parsonage.
"There was something left out of that dinner conversation, Fitzwilliam. Something is terribly wrong with Mrs. Collins, and I would be boorish, indeed, to see the signs of suffering and ignore them." With that speech, he strode to the door.
Charlotte Collins stood in her parlor, and upon seeing Mr. Darcy enter, she registered no surprise.
After general salutations, she ordered tea, sat down and indicated that he should do the same. Then, in a quiet but resolute voice, she spoke to him, "I could see, Sir, that you were concerned when your aunt mentioned what has happened in Meryton, but the conversation is not one I would wish to carry out over Easter dinner."
"What exactly, Mrs. Collins, has been happening in Hertfordshire?" Darcy asked with concern.
"Plague, sir."
Before she could answer any further, her husband came in.
"Mr. Darcy! Thank you for blessing our home with a visit! We are so grateful to be condescended on by you, and so soon after seeing you at Rosings!"
Darcy managed to hold his patience and replied sedately, "I was merely concerned about something that was mentioned at lunch and wanted clarification from your wife. She was about to tell me of the goings on in Hertfordshire."
"Oh, it is indeed very sad, sir," Mr. Collins said with gravity that somehow was not matched by his features.
"Plague, you say?" Darcy turned back to Mrs. Collins.
"Yes, a highly contagious fever. Many, many people fell ill, and many did not live. Not a family has been completely untouched. Except, perhaps, my own."
"How fare the Longs? The Phillips? What of the Averys?" Darcy raised his eyes to Charlotte's, almost pleading, "The Bennets?"
If Charlotte was surprised that Mr. Darcy remembered any of the families of Hertfordshire, let alone showed concern for them, she was not at all surprised at seeing his almost desperate look when asking about the Bennets. She had always suspected he had a soft spot for Lizzy. This would not be an easy piece of news to break.
Unfortunately, her husband did not possess such insight or tact.
"Oh, it is a shame about my poor cousins. To hold healthy for such a long period only to lose two daughters to the fever!"
Darcy started at that, and his breathing became shallow. He was very pale, but he managed to ask, quietly, what had happened.
Charlotte took pity on him. It was completely obvious that this man knew nothing about the plague, that this had taken him completely unawares, and that he was in shock and very worried about Elizabeth. "Lydia fell ill first - sometime near the end of February. She held on until the beginning of March before her body failed."
She paused then, not sure of how to say the rest, "Eliza was taking care of Lydia. From what my mother says, Lizzy was already exhausted from taking care of the tenants and workers at Longbourn. Shortly before Lydia died, Eliza fell ill herself." She could see the hopeless grief in his eyes, and ignoring the rules of propriety, she briefly touched his arm in reassurance. "Despite what my husband has said, Eliza is still very much alive. She has had a rough time of it, but, well, you know Elizabeth. She is as stubborn as the day is long. We expect her to come here in a few days - hopefully the fresh, healthy air of Kent and required rest that I will ensure she gets will put her back on her feet." Charlotte tried to sound more hopeful than she felt, and she saw resignation and hope mingled in Mr. Darcy's eyes as he nodded.
"What about Miss Jane, Miss Mary, and Miss Catherine?" he asked, after a brief pause.
"Kitty and Mary are grieving as best they can while trying to cope with taking care of Lizzy, Longbourn, and the tenants in need. Poor Jane has been beside herself with worry. She was in London when the illness broke, and it was decided that she should stay there while it ravaged her home. Once Lydia fell ill, there was not much word, and Jane had no way of knowing what was happening. Her worst fears were confirmed when she was told that she should grieve her youngest sister, and pray for her closest sister, who had fallen ill. Now, she waits in London to hear if Elizabeth will live or die. I just had a letter from her today, and she is understandably becoming frustrated with waiting. Her Aunt and Uncle in London have even offered to escort her home, but her mother will have none of it."
Darcy sat quietly for a minute, barely registering that Mr. Collins was going on with an almost gleeful fascination, about all the casualties in Hertfordshire. Darcy could not bear the presence of the little man anymore, but before he left the parsonage, he asked, "Mrs. Collins, would it be too much... would you mind very much hosting Miss Jane Bennet for a few weeks?"
Charlotte nodded in approval and said that she would certainly have room for her dear friend Jane. Mr. Darcy assured Mrs. Collins that he would arrange all the details, ensuring Miss Bennet would arrive in Kent on the morning when Miss Elizabeth was due to arrive. He only needed details of her current whereabouts and a letter of explanation to have it all made ready.
Mr. Collins was shocked that Darcy would take such trouble.
"It would not do for the parish priest or his wife to spend too much time attending to someone outside his flock," Darcy rejoined, seeing for the first time a small smile grace the features of Charlotte Collins. William Collins nodded and started to thank Mr. Darcy profusely for his generous benevolence when Mr. Darcy stood and took his leave.
Darcy made his way to Rosings, aligning his thoughts and planning his actions. He dealt well with crisis only when he had a plan of action. At the back of his mind, however, was the plaintive cry that Elizabeth was seriously unwell. He knew if he listened to that voice, paralyzing fear could take him - he had watched what happened to his own father when that gentleman's beloved wife had taken ill and died. He needed to work; he needed to keep busy.
With this in mind, he rapidly prepared parchment and quill and penned two express posts.
Marcy 26 - express post
Dearest Georgiana,
I am writing to you from Kent with the most urgent request. I know that your spirits are not much up to a visit with Aunt Catherine, but I have need of your services in an endeavor of the utmost urgency.
Do not fear that it is I or any of those you know and love who is in need of your aid. Instead, it is one I know and care for a great deal. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, an acquaintance from Hertfordshire, is expected to be here in Kent in two days time. She is seriously ill. She wishes to see her sister, who is currently in London. I am attempting to arrange for Charles Bingley to bring his fastest carriage, collect Miss Jane Bennet and escort her here. It would not be proper for them to be alone, however, so I am hoping very much that you will provide them escort.
Please bring Mrs. Annesley and enough clothing that you might stay for the rest of the time here; we shall return to London together at the end of the month, if all goes well.
I remain
Your devoted brother
Fitzwilliam
Re-reading this letter to his sister, Darcy felt that there might be a better way to ask for Georgiana's help in the matter, but he did not have the wherewithal to rewrite it. The second express required all of his concentration. He knew what he had to write, but he knew not how to go about the business.
March 26 - express post
Charles
I am writing with an urgent request.
Miss Jane Bennet is in need of your assistance.
Miss Bennet is in London. Her sister, Miss Elizabeth, whom she has not seen these many months, has been seriously ill and is to arrive in Kent two days hence for a period of recuperation. It is of the utmost importance that Miss Bennet be here to help nurse Miss Elizabeth back to health.
Georgiana and her companion will provide escort. If you are able to aide Miss Bennet, please be so kind as to send my sister a note with the details of your journey.
Miss Bennet is staying at -Gracechurch street. I have included a letter of explanation from Mrs. Charlotte Collins, nee Lucas, stating that she and her husband, Miss Bennet's cousin, if you recall, will welcome Jane into their household. I have also included a letter from me to confirm that my sister and her companion shall accompany you. The Gardiners (with whom Miss Bennet is staying) will know all the details, and will, I am certain, approve of the visit.
Please, Charles, put aside anything you have pending and bring your fastest carriage to Rosings. I would not ask this of you if it were not extremely urgent.
I feel I must admit to you, Charles, that I knew Miss Bennet was in London this winter, and I never told you. I though it would be best if you got over her. It was wrong of me. I was wrong. I apologize.
I hope to see you on Tuesday.
Darcy
After collecting the note from Mrs. Collins, Mr. Darcy posted his letters and took himself off to speak with his cousin, Anne. He and Anne did not have much unsupervised time together, but he knew that she looked forward to their conversations as a diversion from her solitude.
Anne knew Darcy well enough to know that something had happened at dinner that had disturbed him terribly. He spoke to her of Hertfordshire, and all the people he had known there. Only then, as he spoke with Anne, did he recall the details that Mr. Collins had so gleefully provided. Anne, also, was quite concerned, mostly on behalf of Mrs. Collins. It seemed that the two of them had become friends of a sort, though Anne did hold tightly to her social standing and did not generally condescend to parsons' wives. Mrs. Collins' father was a knight, so there was some mitigating circumstance.
Anne was quite proud of Darcy for intervening on the part of Mrs. Collins' friend, and did not hesitate to add her own details to the scheme. She decided that she would inform her mother that it was she who required Georgiana's presence. Lady Catherine would be so happy to learn that, upon Anne's request, Darcy did all in his power to grant Anne's wishes. The thought of misdirecting Lady Catherine brought a smile to both of their mouths; though Darcy knew it would only be a matter of time before his aunt knew of his own feelings toward another visitor to Kent. He knew that, if somehow Elizabeth should heal from this ordeal, he would move heaven and earth to ensure that she remained by his side for the rest of their lives.
The next morning, he received the following, confirming that his plan was in place:
March 27 - express post
Darcy
All is arranged. We will arrive tomorrow morning.
You owe me more than an apology. You owe me an explanation. But, based on our friendship, I'm willing to listen to your side of the story.
What has happened to Miss Bennet's family and her friends is shocking. I am completely ashamed that I did nothing for my neighbors in this time of extreme need. I do not believe any apology to them will suffice.
I am heartily ashamed of myself that I abandoned my friends. That I abandoned Miss Bennet. If it takes the rest of my life, I will work to try to make it up to her.
Charles
The carriage containing Jane, Bingley, and Georgiana in Kent before lunch the next day. After delivering Jane to the parsonage, the rest of the party continued on to Rosings in silence.
Bingley descended from the carriage with none of his usual levity. His face was drawn, and for one of the few times in their acquaintance, Darcy thought he saw anger in his friend's visage. They quietly shook hands before Darcy turned to help his sister.
Darcy greeted Georgiana with a long, quiet hug. Georgiana was quite bewildered by the urgent summons to Kent and the knowledge she had acquired during the journey. She knew her brother was upset; she could read it in his eyes. The presence of the others, however, made it impossible for her to speak to him about it at the moment.
The housekeeper escorted the new guests so that they might refresh themselves and remove the grime from the road. To her dismay, Georgiana was informed that Lady Catherine awaited her in the Red parlor. Her brother owed her for this.
As Georgiana was being interrogated by Lady Catherine, Bingley had a footman guide him to Darcy. He found Darcy at a customary position, looking out of the window in an isolated parlor. Trying to rein in his burgeoning anger, Bingley approached Darcy.
"Well, Darcy?" he asked quietly, not trusting his voice to hold for anything else.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, Bingley," Darcy responded, quietly.
"You know that you only had to ask. I simply cannot understand..." Bingley broke off, then started again. "It was the most miserable trip I have ever experienced, Darcy. Miss Bennet... she was so worried. I could not bear it. I wanted to help her, to give her some sign of support. But even if she is ever inclined to forgive me for abandoning her, today was not the time to ask. She was beside herself." Bingley's voice trailed off, remembering the look of terror and sadness in Jane's eyes. "I should have been informed she was in town. If nothing else, I could have been there to listen to her."
"I knew she was in town, but that is all that I knew."
"Oh, Darcy, I know this is mostly Caroline's doing. I confronted her and Louisa last night. They admitted to seeing Miss Bennet twice. They even admitted that they had heard something of a sickness in Hertfordshire. They claimed they were protecting me. Protecting me!" He practically shouted in his anger, "In a way, Darcy, I expect such behavior from them. They have always been selfish, and I have always allowed it, because it was easier than trying to fight against them. But you! I cannot believe you knew Jane needed me, and you did not tell me!"
"I swear, Bingley, I knew nothing of the sort! If I had known... but no matter. There is nothing to be done now. The fact of the matter is that she still needs you. Let us go to the parsonage and wait with her. Stand by her now, Charles. You cannot go back, but you can be there for her now."
Charles nodded grimly, and the two men donned outerwear for the walk to the parsonage.
Their reception at the parsonage was quiet. Mr. Collins was attending to business in the parish, and Charlotte greeted them solemnly. Bingley had not known Charlotte Lucas well, but still felt that her reception of him was a bit cooler than it might have been, had he acted more respectfully toward his neighbors in Hertfordshire. Shame stung him, and once again he apologized to Mrs. Collins for his ignorance of the situation. Charlotte took some pity upon the gentleman and began to speak of common acquaintances. She did not know all of the details herself, just scattered facts that her family had passed to her. It was hard for her to speak of, so they changed the topic to more general things. Still, conversation was strained, as they were all thinking about something quite different. Jane Bennet entered the room shortly afterwards, greeted everyone quietly, and sat in chair facing a window overlooking the drive.
Less than an hour after Bingley and Darcy arrived at the parsonage, Mr. Collins arrived home and began regaling the gentlemen with tales of the parish, the parsonage, and the condescension of his Lady patroness. Though the topics were not ones that particularly appealed to any of the other four people in the parlor, there was some degree of relief to have someone speaking.
When the carriage was heard to approach, all of the occupants of the parlor walked to the door to greet the visitors. Waiting for the dust to settle, Mr. Collins approached the carriage and opened the door.
Sir William Lucas was the first to alight. He shook hands with his son-in-law and walked to encase his daughter in a hug. If any were surprised by the lack of propriety in this greeting, they were more surprised by the fact that Sir William Lucas was utterly silent. His drawn, tired look was a shock to all of those who knew the man as a gregarious, happy gentleman who had not a care in the world.
Mr. Collins reached into the carriage to help Charlotte's sister Maria down. She smiled shyly at her brother-in-law, then after curtseying to Bingley and Darcy, quietly greeted Jane and Charlotte.
Darcy saw a shadow move in the carriage and went to the door to help Elizabeth. As he looked into the carriage, his shock was palpable. Nothing he had heard or thought could have prepared him for the sight before him.
Though her stature had always been small, she now appeared tiny and frail. She looked as though a stiff wind would blow her away; that the smallest bruise could break her. Her complexion was so white it bordered on translucent; her hair limp with ill-health. And though they were still beautiful, her eyes looked almost dull without their normal sparkle. She looked tired, worn. Upon seeing him, though, she smiled, and, for a second, some of the spark that was Elizabeth reappeared.
Holding out his hand for her, Darcy tried to smile in return, but found he could not. "Miss Bennet," he whispered, hoarsely.
"Mr. Darcy," she whispered, astonished to see the person who had for some strange reason so occupied her fevered thoughts. Was he here, really? It seemed impossible. Yet she was certain she had not slipped into the fever again.
He looked at her, curiously. She smiled again. Taking a deep breath, she began her painful descent from the carriage. It hurt to move; she ached everywhere and the unending hours in the carriage had not helped. The three steps to the ground seemed to stretch to eternity, and what little strength she had seemed to be fading fast. Darcy longed for permission to lift her safely to the ground, and was only partially rewarded for his forbearance by the smile he received in return for his help, once she had descended the final step.
"Lizzy?" The voice, so familiar, so gentle, brought tears to Elizabeth's eyes. She slowly turned to see Jane, her Jane, looking at her, tears streaming down her face.
Jane walked to Lizzy and slowly folded her into a sweet, sisterly embrace. There was a sound of gentle weeping, and Lizzy, so in need of comfort herself, quietly consoled her sister.
Charlotte viewed the scene with stinging eyes. Not used to such emotion, she sniffed, straightened her back, and offered to bring her father and sister into the house. Mr. Collins led the way, pointing out all of the obvious luxuries of his home to his wife's family, wanting to impress upon them that Charlotte had, indeed, found herself in a comfortable situation. If no one answered his statements, he did not notice, and again, his conversation filled any uncomfortable silence that might have occurred.
Elizabeth pulled back from Jane, taking her handkerchief and drying Jane's tears.
"I think now I must be dreaming! Jane, how is it that you come to be here with Charlotte?"
"Mr. Bingley brought me," Jane answered softly, sniffing and not taking her eyes from Elizabeth.
Elizabeth turned into the sunshine to see Mr. Bingley standing a bit apart, watching the reunion. "Mr. Bingley! How good it is to see you!" Though she honestly sounded happy, there was none of her usual animation in either her voice or her gaze. She only seemed tired to all who watched her.
Charles walked forward and bowed gracefully to Elizabeth, "Miss Elizabeth, it is good to see you, also. When Darcy mentioned that your sister wished to come here to see you, I simply jumped at the chance to see all my friends."
"That is very kind of you, sir," Elizabeth nodded, then looked at Jane. "Shall we make our way into our cousin's house, sister?"
Jane smiled and made to step next to her sister. Lizzy shook her head sadly. "I am afraid this will not do, sister. My gait will make for little progress. Mr. Bingley, would you be so good as to escort my sister into the house? I find, much to my embarrassment, that I have need of a stronger arm to assist me on such a long walk." Pausing, she turned to Darcy, who was standing back, quietly studying her. "Do you think, Mr. Darcy, that you can assist me? I see no mud or wilderness that would affect your sensibilities," she teased.
Darcy smiled and bowed, "Of course, I should be honored, Miss Elizabeth." He offered the crook of his arm, and she took it gingerly, the smile fading from her face as her eyes closed. She gathered her strength and began to step forward.
"You probably think me quite forward, Mr. Darcy. But I find that providence has provided this opportunity, and I shall not let it pass," She spoke quietly. "I must ask you to walk more slowly. It is... humiliating to admit it, but I am no great walker now," smiling ruefully, she gathered her breath and energy.
Darcy smiled down at her, his happiness at being with her tinged with sadness at realizing the severity of her condition. Just as he had fought the urge to lift her from the carriage, he now resisted the temptation of simply gathering her in his arms and carrying her to the house. Instead, he confined himself to taking his free hand and placing it on her small, cold, gloved hand as it rested on his arm. "I gathered, Miss Bennet, that you wished to speak with me. What is it that is of such great import?"
"I must apologize to you. It has been on my mind for weeks."
"Apologize?" he was taken aback. "Whatever for?"
"For listening to the malicious slander that was laid against you. For treating you with discourtesy simply because you were honest in your opinion of our general company. In short, for being a terribly impertinent chit."
"I noticed no such behavior," he declared, gallantly.
Elizabeth smiled, "Well, it was there, I assure you. I could not speak to you without daring you to find fault. I argued with mean spirit, and in truth, I am heartily ashamed of myself." She stopped again, and Darcy was once again grimly reminded just how frail she had become. A few steps and a few words had exhausted her. But, as her friend Charlotte had stated, she was stubborn. She continued her self-deprecation, "From the beginning of our acquaintance, you proved to be nothing but honest in your dealings with us all. I saw your censure and decided to dislike you because of it. But when your party left, and life, as we knew it, fell apart, I was struck with the knowledge that you had not meant to offend. You had merely wished to avoid raising any false hopes. I dearly wished that all of your company had acted the same," she said with a tinge of bitterness.
Darcy listened with growing alarm. He had not realized that she had thought his opinion of her to be so low. He also had not realized how much harm he had caused by talking Bingley into staying away from Hertfordshire. The pain in his chest and tightness in his throat compounded.
"I have nothing to forgive of you, Miss Bennet. I apologize if my general manner caused you or anyone else to think that I... disapproved of you. I have not a great ability to converse with strangers..." he broke off, seeing a small sparkle in her eyes.
"You are shy, Mr. Darcy? I never would have believed it. Of course, never having suffered that particular malady, I cannot understand it in others." She laughed then suddenly stopped, trying to catch her breath. Concern clouded his features.
"Miss Bennet, is there anything I can do for your present relief?"
She smiled up at him again, but sad acceptance clouded her eyes. That look shook him to his core. Her words, however, were calm and reassured, "I am sure all I need is some rest, Mr. Darcy. But I thank you for your concern. And thank you for listening to me."
They continued to walk to the door very slowly. When they entered the parlor, Elizabeth quietly asked Charlotte if she could be escorted to her room, as the journey had tired her. Charlotte nodded, her eyes solemn. "Jane is already there, unpacking your trunk. Are you able to climb some stairs?"
The room was exceptionally quiet as the ladies left. When quiet conversation began again, Darcy took no part in it. The look in her eye would haunt him forever, he knew.
"Jane, Charlotte, it is so good to see you," Elizabeth sighed as they washed her gently and prepared her to lie down. When Lizzy's head rested upon the cool pillow, Jane looked at her sister with concern. She had a feverish hue, and her eyes did not focus. Jane knew from her sisters' letters that Lizzy had fallen to the fever twice, and each time it took more to fight it off. She also knew from various correspondences that it was the recurrence of the fever that killed the patients. She swallowed her panic, and put herself to the task at hand.
"Lizzy, you must rest now," Jane said quietly.
"Yes, Jane, I am very weary. I will rest, and with you here, I am not afraid."
Charlotte looked upon Elizabeth with a knowing eye and excused herself to send for the doctor.
Jane fixed the coverlet over her sister, fussing as a mother with a child. She began to hum Elizabeth's favorite lullaby, preparing a cool linen to place on Lizzy's fevered brow.
"Jane," Lizzy whispered, "I am glad you have come to take me."
"Take you?" Jane asked, baffled.
Elizabeth's voice became fainter and her eyes closed. "I was worried it would be Lydia. She is certain to be angry with me. But you are never angry. Jane, I am sorry that I killed you."
"Lizzy, Lizzy," Jane cried, gently pressing cool cloths into her sister's burning brow. "You are talking nonsense. I am here. I have come from London. You did not kill me; I am quite alive."
Lizzy looked confused, but did not argue. The fever had taken her away.
Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy excused themselves soon after Charlotte returned downstairs. Darcy heard Charlotte telling the servant to go for the doctor and offered his services in any way that he could. Charlotte thanked him, but stated that there was nothing more to be done at that point. She thanked him and Mr. Bingley once again for bringing Jane Bennet to them, assuring them that this was the kindest thing they could have done for Elizabeth. The men took their leave, asking to be informed of the doctor's prognosis when he had finished his examination. Charlotte promised to send the physician to Rosings when he left the parsonage. With that, they quietly departed.
When they got back to Rosings, Bingley excused himself almost immediately. He had much to think on, and preferred to do his thinking out of doors. Darcy watched the younger man walk away, back straight, stride purposeful. Darcy, however, knew there was nowhere for him to go where his own thoughts would not assail him.
He went to his only haven at Rosings: the library. Walking to a glazed window that offered a view of a perfectly manicured lawn, he stared unseeing until he felt a small hand on his arm.
Turning, he saw his sister looking at him with concern.
"Brother?" she asked quietly.
Darcy looked at his sister and forced himself to concentrate on her instead of his bleak self-reproach.
"Thank you, Georgiana, for coming on such short notice."
"Fitzwilliam, you did not ask me to do anything so terribly arduous. Miss Bennet seems like a very nice person. She is certainly beautiful and well mannered. I only wish we had met under better circumstances!"
"And what do you know of the circumstances?" Darcy asked, willing to give his sister whatever information she asked for.
"I only know that her sister is here, and she is sick. What is the true situation?"
Darcy held his sister's hand as he told her of meeting the Bennets in Hertfordshire the previous autumn, all that he knew of the sickness, and how he had come to bring Jane Bennet to be with her sister, Elizabeth.
"But it is so shocking! Poor Miss Bennet! She was so very brave, Fitzwilliam. I could see how much pain she was in, how she wanted to cry. She even tried to make polite conversation, but did not listen to our answers. Her mind was obviously with her sister. I am astonished that she has not been allowed to see Miss Elizabeth, given that the fever is no longer contagious." Georgiana continued, thinking aloud, "I cannot imagine what her family is thinking. I know I could not stand it if you were ill and they kept me from you. I am not so brave, but I think I would even challenge Richard if it meant getting to you, dear brother."
Georgiana smiled slightly, but saw her brother was far away. She took his hand between hers, "Will Miss Elizabeth recover, Fitzwilliam?" He gave her no answer, but she saw the anguish in her brother's eye, and decided not to push. A few minutes later, she left the library with the excuse of going to practice the pianoforte.
Richard Fitzwilliam wandered into the library shortly after Georgiana left to find his cousin Darcy alone, staring out the window.
"Darcy?" Though it was still a bit early in the evening, he poured two glasses of cognac and handed one to his solemn cousin. It was rare that Fitzwilliam Darcy was upset enough to warrant an inquisition, but this was obviously one of the times.
"Fitzwilliam," Darcy replied, "I am ruminating on how utterly stupid I have been, and how I may pay for that stupidity the rest of my life." If the Colonel was surprised that his cousin would tell the tale without prompting, he hid it well. Sitting back with the glass of amber liquid in his hands, Richard Fitzwilliam prepared himself to be Father Confessor.
"I met her in Hertfordshire, at a ball of all places." Darcy laughed without humor as the memories assailed him, "I wasted no time in loudly and publicly slighting her. Instead of being affronted, she laughed. She laughed, Richard, and it was then that I started to melt." Shaking his head, he looked out the window, but saw nothing save Elizabeth in his mind. "Over the weeks, I could not help but notice that her figure was light and pleasing, that her features, though not what one would commonly call beautiful, were completely captivating. She bewitched me. I yearned for her conversation, for her laughter. When I knew my own heart to be in danger, I reminded myself of her very inferior birth," He looked to his cousin to see if there was any judgment registered on Fitzwilliam's face, but the Colonel maintained neutrality. He only watched and listened. Darcy continued, "Oh, she is a gentleman's daughter, but her connections are rather low - so I treated her family and general company with cold contempt. I lost no opportunity to seek out improper behavior and used those examples as reminders to myself of my rank and my duty. And I left her behind." Darcy could not keep the bitterness out of his voice as he recounted his own actions.
Lost in recounting the tale, Darcy had not heard the library door open to admit his friend, Bingley. Charles listened, astonished, as his friend told a tale Bingley had never dreamed. Darcy loved Elizabeth Bennet? The rest of the tale confirmed the truth, and Bingley felt compassion melt the anger in his gut.
"All these months, I have not been able to get her out of my mind. I dream of her - her laughter, her scent. She prefers lavender, do you know? Just as my mother did. I searched the ballrooms and parties of the ton, trying to find someone else who could satisfy me as she did, but it was all in vain. There is no one like her..." he paused, then seemed to collect himself.
"When we planned this trip to Rosings, I was full of anticipation. I knew Mr. Collins' relationship and Mrs. Collins friendship with her would certainly ensure that Elizabeth was a topic of conversation. And, like an opium addict, I eagerly craved any information they could give me. Even if that news contained a suitor, or, as I sometimes tortured myself into supposing, a fiancé. I knew I would never have her, for her station is so much below my own," he said with ironic self-contempt, "but if she were happy with someone else, that would be a pain I would find hard to bear.
"And now I see that she is..." he put down the glass and released a shaky sigh. "Richard, I do not know how she's even alive. And if that carriage trip has not killed her, that will be a miracle. When it comes down to it, the pain of knowing she may be somewhere else, happy with someone else, is nothing to the idea that she would be gone, forever out of reach. That the light in the world that is Elizabeth will be extinguished. The thought nigh kills me," he closed his eyes in pain, and swallowed harshly.
Shaking his head, he spoke again, "Sunday, when Lady Catherine was talking of rank and class distinction and how what happened in Hertfordshire would never happen here among the elite - I realized it was all stupid and pointless. Lady Catherine has nothing. She is miserable here, and mostly alone. Elizabeth Bennet is dying, and she has more happiness in her grief and illness-worn body than Lady Catherine has in her rich, hearty, hale one. The only time I have ever felt truly alive was when I was with Elizabeth, even withered as she is now. And I may have thrown it all away, simply because of arrogance and misplaced pride."
Richard remained silent, passing no judgment. Darcy was a complex man, sometimes too complex. He took duty and propriety to a level that Richard thought laughable, usually. But the stark pain on his cousin's face led Richard Fitzwilliam to believe that Darcy was learning a very painful lesson on the priorities of life. It was a lesson that Fitzwilliam had learned on the battlefield: life is precious, and society's rules can be damned if true happiness is at stake. He knew, whatever the outcome, his cousin would be a better man for this pain. He also knew that nothing could be done to help Darcy. So he remained silent, holding his counsel.
Bingley was astonished. He saw how contrite, how devastated Darcy was. The goodness in Bingley's own heart led him to realize that there would be no point in holding any kind of grudge against Darcy for withholding whatever knowledge he had. In fact, Charles was castigating himself. He had known of his own love for Jane Bennet. He should have been strong enough to weigh the opinion of his friend against his own conscience, knowledge, and heart. It was not Darcy's fault that he had stayed away from Hertfordshire. Charles Bingley was his own man, and part of being a man was taking responsibilities for one's own actions.
Shaking his head, Bingley answered a quiet summons from a footman outside the library door. Nodding and murmuring acceptance, he announced to the cousins, "Darcy? The doctor is here."
Fitzwilliam stood as Bingley brought the doctor into the room. Darcy walked to the gentleman and shook his hand.
"Doctor, it is good to see you again. I am sorry it is under such circumstances."
"Yes, yes, Mr. Darcy. It is often my lot in life that I meet people only under the direst of situations. I did want to take the time to thank you for the information which has helped Miss de Bourgh. Your cousin is doing quite well with the treatment that you forwarded me. Quite an interesting bit of work that young doctor friend of yours is doing."
"Yes, Anne is getting stronger, but she is not your patient today," Darcy reminded the doctor with patience.
"No," the doctor lost the smile he momentarily had shown. "Miss Bennet." He paused, "I had heard of the fever in Hertfordshire. I've a young nephew in the militia down there. His mother has been beside herself with worry. Now that I've seen it, I can understand..."
"What can you tell me of her condition?" Darcy interrupted quietly, but his anxiety showed in his voice and his carriage.
The doctor sighed heavily, "She is much ravaged by the fever, sir. I have given her the best medicines I have, but if she does not have the resources to fight this, then there is nothing I can do for her. To put it bluntly, I do not expect her to make it through the night. But, if she does, it is possible that she can recover."
Darcy did not register the last sentence at first. Hope seemed so distant. All he could do was castigate himself for his own stupidity and pig headedness. He felt Fitzwilliam's hand descend on his shoulder, and he thanked the doctor quietly once again before turning back to the window.
"She may yet live, Darcy," Bingley's voice interrupted Darcy's self-recrimination. He remained silent.
Bingley also poured himself a glass of cognac and seated himself at the table with Fitzwilliam. The three remained mostly silent that night, waiting for word from the parsonage, holding vigil for a young woman whose life was burning away in that small cottage down the lane.
Jane squeezed out another cloth, applying it to Elizabeth's forehead. Nothing seemed to bring the fever down. But Jane was strong, and Jane was patient. Every hour she washed Lizzy down with cool water. Jane forced her sister to drink cool liquids. Though Elizabeth was mostly silent, not raving as many fever patients do, Jane spoke quietly to her all night. She insisted that Lizzy get better. She told of how Charles, and she now again called him Charles, had known nothing of the fever in Hertfordshire. She spoke of how she would need her favorite sister to commiserate about the horrid Bingley sisters and their vile treatment of their angelic brother, for Jane could never abuse them, but Lizzy was so efficient at it. She talked of Mary and Kitty and their father and how all of them wanted, needed, demanded that Lizzy get well. She read from the book that Mr. Greeley had given her, and from the other books Lizzy had asked for. She asked Lizzy what the verse meant, but received no answer.
Jane talked until she was hoarse. She bathed and nourished Elizabeth until she shook with fatigue. But still the fever burned. Still Lizzy stayed far away, locked in her mind. But Jane would not give up. So, when the clock struck six, she changed the water again, and began to wash Lizzy's hands, arms, and neck. She dipped and squeezed the cloth again, and began to wipe down Lizzy's face. She noticed that Lizzy's cheeks were not as red. Pulling the cloth away, she felt Lizzy's forehead, and it was noticeably cooler.
But Lizzy's eyes remained closed.
Jane observed all this, and watched closely for any sign of movement. She saw none.
Panicked now, she gasped before collecting herself enough to lower her cheek to Elizabeth's face. Holding her breath, she waited for some sign, any sign, that Lizzy was still there.
Only when she felt the small puff of air did Jane allowed herself to cry. And once the tears started to fall, they became a river.
"Jane?" It was a whisper, barely registered by the crying woman.
Jane looked up and saw her sisters eyes open, barely, but quite lucid.
"Oh, Lizzy!" Jane squeezed Elizabeth's hand and smiled, still crying.
"You must not cry, Jane. Mama says it ruins your complexion," Lizzy smiled, teasing her older sister. She closed her eyes again, and fell into a light sleep.
Jane hastily wiped her eyes and took the basin down to the kitchen. Instead of filling it and returning to the upstairs, as she had done countless times that night, she went outside. In the chill of the early spring morning, she found a bench, sat, and wept. The tears were a catharsis. Lizzy had lived. Lizzy would live.
Darcy had slept little that night. He called his valet with the first light of the sun. He dressed with no interest, his mind obviously trained elsewhere.
Rosings was quiet as he descended the stairs. He had been up through the wee hours with Fitzwilliam and Bingley. At some point in the evening, Bingley had started talking about the people of Hertfordshire, he and Darcy sharing the stories of the people there. The stories, of course, ended up centering around the Bennet family.
Fitzwilliam had listened to the tales of the very diverse family with a small smile. If the situation had not been so grave, he would have raised a toast to his two fallen comrades. For these two were certainly lost as bachelors. He listened with shock as Bingley recounted stories of the verbal jousting that occurred between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth.
"She concluded that he had a propensity to hate everyone! I have never seen Darcy so flummoxed!"
As Darcy passed the library that morning, he thought back on the conversation. It had felt good, after so many months of denial, to finally talk about Elizabeth. The freedom of being able to openly admire her, to share his admiration of her wit and beauty, had been the first relief in the overwhelming depression he had felt since he had heard that Elizabeth was ill. And something of that feeling was with him still. He felt hope.
He passed through the park of Rosings, not noticing his surroundings, only knowing that he needed to make his way to the parsonage. He needed to know.
Crossing the lane, he heard the gentle sound of a woman weeping. He skirted around the back of the parsonage to the garden, where he found Jane Bennet, sitting on a picturesque bench, head in her hands, crying endless tears.
He approached her quietly, not quite knowing what to say. He feared that the worst had happened, yet, if it had, why was Miss Bennet alone? Placing his hand gently on her shoulder, he spoke quietly, "Miss Bennet?"
Jane raised her eyes to greet Mr. Darcy. The joy and relief that filled her was quickly mirrored in his eyes. He knew, without asking, that Elizabeth would be well. She had, once again, beaten the fever.
Wanting to express his joy, yet not quite knowing how, Darcy took one of Jane's hands, bowed over it, and kissed it, gratefully.
It was this action, this moment, that brought clarity to Jane. Mr. Darcy had not brought her here only out of the kindness of his heart. He loved her Lizzy - loved her as surely as Jane loved Bingley. This knowledge guided Jane's subsequent actions. She squeezed his hand reassuringly and smiled.
"Miss Bennet, you are exhausted. You should go rest."
"Thank you, Mr. Darcy, I may just do that. You have no idea how fussy a patient my sister can be. When she is feeling better, she will require no end of distraction to get her to rest!"
Darcy chuckled, his relief evident in his completely relaxed actions. "Knowing what I do of your sister, I am inclined to believe you!"
They shared a small amount of conversation before he turned back to Rosings and she walked back into the parsonage.