“You are still happy.”
“Not the same. Never the same as an adult. Eh — I’ll not be maudlin. You’ve lost both your parents as well.”
As soon as they returned to the house, Miss Bingley started speaking with an annoyed frown. “We’ll have to host two of the Bennets now — the way they multiply I dare say all the sisters and their mother will have joined us here in another three days.”
“Miss Elizabeth did not fall sick!” Bingley exclaimed with concern.
“No.” Miss Bingley shuddered. “That would be ghastly. If they had brought something contagious with them. I have a horror of contagious illnesses. Thank God — no, dear Jane said so pathetically that she was happy to have Elizabeth here, and when Elizabeth and I talked about plans to send her home in our carriage, Jane looked so sad that I had no choice as a matter ofpolitenessbut to invite her to stay. A footman was sent off with a note, and to fetch articles of clothing for her.”
“Oh.” Bingley smiled. “I could not be happier than to have Jane’s sister as well. I’m delighted you invited her to stay.”
“Yes. Delightful.” Miss Bingley glanced meaningfully at Darcy, as though she hoped that he would share her attitude. But he also was happy that Elizabeth would be here.
That evening Elizabeth left a maid to sit with Jane, so that she could dress and then join them for dinner. But her manner was wholly different from what Darcy was used to seeing in her. She was pale, nervously worrying at the sleeve of her dress, and she stared through the table.
“Is there no change,” Darcy asked once the footmen had brought out the soup. “How does Miss Bennet manage — I know you well enough to be confident that everything that can be done for her comfort is being done.”
“Yes. I mean no, no change.” Elizabeth picked up a spoonful of her soup, and then turned the spoon over to let the green split pea soup drip back into the bowl. She absently stirred the spoon around several times while staring down into the bowl.
“I am sure,” Miss Bingley said brightly, “that Miss Bennet shall quickly recover — she has a good constitution. In a day or two she shall no doubt be in a perfect condition to return home.”
Elizabeth’s spoon clanked against the side of her bowl. Mr. Hurst ate hungrily, quickly scooping one mouthful of soup after another into his gullet, but no one else at the table had much appetite. Darcy added some salt and forced himself to take one bite after another.
“The fever seems even higher… very high.” Elizabeth looked up. “Jane can hardly move her head. She moaned about how it hurts.”
That ended all hope of conversation.
Even Mr. Hurst seemed to catch the anxious mood, though it did not stop him from eating.
“Charles, I just received a letter from sweet Annette — you recall her. Mr. Fordham’s sister.” Miss Bingley spoke firmly, apparently having decided that as she was the hostess, she could not permit an entirely silent and gloomy table.
“Oh, yes. Her,” Bingley replied absently. “And what did it say?”
Miss Bingley chatted on, regularly asking questions from her brother, sister, and occasionally Darcy.
Elizabeth just stared at the soup, swirling it around and around. She had exactly three bites before the bowls were taken away and replaced with a plate of pheasant that had been shot the previous day.
Darcy had counted.
She stared down at the delicately roasted pheasant, poked it with her fork, and then suddenly stood up. “My deepest apologies — this is no insult to your chef, nor your fine company. I am… authentically grateful for your kindness. But I find I have no appetite this evening and would rather rejoin my sister while she is still so ill.”
“Of course,” Miss Bingley said, with what seemed to Darcy to be a hidden smirk. “Under such a circumstance there can be no blame.”
As soon as Elizabeth had left the room, Miss Bingley turned to the room. “Well I never — how rude, to leave in the middle of dinner. If she had meant to not eat with us, she ought to have announced that she would not before the staff had gone to the work of setting a place for her.”
Mrs. Hurst made an expression of agreement.
“That is not my view at all,” Darcy said.
“Nor mine,” agreed Bingley. “It shows an affection for her sister that is most becoming.”
“Did you see how she appeared,” Miss Bingley said, “when she came in this morning — having walked the whole way. No ability to call her own carriage, I don’t doubt. Her petticoats six inches deep in the mud, and with that sweaty wild look in her eyes — Mr. Darcy, you could not have wanted to seeyoursister make such a display.”
“Were my sister to walk three miles across the countryside to come tomybedside while I was ill,” Darcy replied severely, “she would be welcome and praised for the effort. There is nothing more important during a serious illness than the presence of those with whom there is the strongest mutual affection.”
“Serious illness! — no, Darcy, no. Please, please do not saythat!” Miss Bingley’s face turned green in a way that clashed quite horridly with the color of her dress and hair. “Imagine if she were to die here? I can conceive of almost nothing worse than having a near stranger die in my house. That would be the rudest possible way for a guest to treat her host — nothing can be done at this point. She cannot be sent away.”
“Caroline!” Bingley exclaimed. He slammed his spoon down. “That speech does not show Christian charity. Miss Bennet shallnotdie. She shall be wholly better soon — and I can conceive of nothing that makes me happier than to be of service to her now while she is ill.”
