This morning in her body Jane was healthier than she had been during the whole duration of her illness, able to easily stand up and support herself, able to walk about and stretch, and with no fever or sign that her face had been paralyzed.
She looked beautiful, ordinary, healthy — except that vacant look in her eyes which no longer focused right. Except that she could see nothing and stumbled over everything on the ground.
Mr. Thompson frowned as he kept his head uncomfortably close to Jane’s, he stared into her eyes through some set of magnifying lenses, while the maid held a bright candle up so close to Jane’s face that Elizabeth was afraid the hair would catch fire.
Mr. Thompson occasionally made clicking sounds with his tongue as he repositioned himself, Jane, and the light from the candle during his examination. “Hmm. Hmmmmm. Yes. Well.”
At last after ten minutes he stepped back from her. “Well, Miss Bennet, I can detect no abnormalities in your eyes, the orbs are free of any imperfection — you said they do not hurt?”
“Not at all.”
He made that clicking sound three more times, and then nodded decisively. “Well, that is that.”
He patted Jane on the shoulder and looked at Mr. Bennet.
Papa frowned back at him, and Elizabeth’s heart seized.
No, there must be hope.
They again retreated, leaving Jane to the care of the maid, while the doctor announced her condition to them.
This time Papa led them to the drawing room before asking the doctor about his daughter’s fate. Bingley, his sisters and Darcy were all there.
Darcy looked at Elizabeth with a comforting gaze that was not quite a smile, but which showed heunderstoodwhat she felt.
Elizabeth took in a shuddering breath, and she sat down in the chair closest to the divan that Darcy occupied.
“Is she permanently blind?” Mr. Bennet growled.
Mr. Bingley stood by the window. He clenched his fists so tight that the knuckles turned white. Elizabeth thought he looked nauseated, ready to vomit.
Mr. Thompson said evenly to Mr. Bennet, “That is the most probable outcome of her case — though on occasion this form of blindness resolves… I have never heard of the sight being recovered when its cessation was so complete as Miss Bennet’s. I would judge that as exceedingly unlikely.”
“Blind then. Unchangeably blind,” Mr. Bennet snapped back.
“That likelihood is what you must build your plans upon.”
Time stopped for Elizabeth.
There was a drone of voices. Darcy sharply asked several questions about details, information about how to help a blind person regain capabilities and independence. Mr. Bennet’s face was stricken, he looked out the window, staring at the sun, with the morning sun lighting up his wrinkles.
Not Jane.
Not Jane.
It was very much like Darcy to jump immediately to such practicalities. He tapped a finger against the sofa he sat on to mark each point the doctor made. Elizabeth’s stomach hurt. Papa looked… lost.
Voices.
The doctor’s intelligent face with a high forehead and grey sideburns, grey moustache, grey skin, black clothes. Miss Bingley’s gasp, white face, hand pressed against her mouth. Mr. Bingley, completely silent, eyes directed firmly out the window. Perhaps he felt the same horror at Jane’s fate that Elizabeth did.
The sky was a patchy mix of greyish white clouds and splotches of deep blue. Elizabeth’s feet were cold. The portrait of the baronet who'd built Netherfield hung over the fireplace, a dull image soot darkened by decades of ash.
Miles away from home.
Home wasn’t a safe haven either.
Darcy’s voice spoke to her. He leaned close to her. But she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She couldn’t quite see his face right.
