Elizabeth ached for her.
She ached for the past.
That evening Papa carried Jane up the stairs to the second floor, because she was still very tired and weak from her illness. Then as the noise of Mrs. Bennet and the younger girls preparing for bed slowly subsided, they gathered together in the same bed, as they often would as girls, and talked.
Jane mostly spoke upon her acceptance of matters, how things had been easier than she had expected them to be, how she was so delighted to be back home, and surrounded by the noise of her family.
Then she said, “I wonder if Mr. Bingley shall call tomorrow morning — I was quite surprised that he did not see us to the carriage this morning, but Miss Bingley did say he had urgent and unavoidable business.”
Elizabeth had not had the heart to tell her the previous day.
And perhaps it was even worse now that another day had passed, and Jane did not yet know the truth of that reprobate that she had fallen in love with.
It was in the tone of her voice. It was in the soft smile that she had when she said Bingley’s name: Jane was in love with him.
And she had trusted him.
A trust he proved unworthy of.
Elizabeth gripped Jane’s hand. One deep breath. Another deep breath.
“Lizzy, you make me frightened, what is it?”
“Mr. Bingley, he won’t… he won’t be calling on us.”
Quiet. Sound of the flickering flames in the fire eating at the wood. Jane’s soft breathing. The groaning of the house in the heavy winds.
“What… what do you mean?” Jane’s voice was queer and thin. “Is he well? Mr. Bingley told me while I was ill that—”
“It doesn’t matter what hesaid! He isn’t worthy of you. He isn’t—”
“He said he loved me!” Jane’s tone was suddenly anguished. Elizabeth realized in that instant that a part of Jane’s seeming acceptance of her new state of blindness had been that the horror of how she had been struck had been matched by the happiness of forming an attachment she had every reason to believe would lead to marriage.
“Did… Was a promise made to you?” Elizabeth said in surprise. She thought very little of Mr. Bingley, but to imagine that he would break a settled engagement… That was outside of the scope of her previous imaginings.
“No…” Jane forced a serene smile on her face. Her face was suddenly an emotionless mask. “It must have been a dream.”
Jane’s tone was tinny and false.
Elizabeth’s heart broke for her.
“I thought I had heard him whisper that he loved me when you all visited me, that day Mr. Thompson examined me first. You all believed me to be asleep, but I simply… I was quite sick, but my ears were open. Or so I thought. I thought he had inclined himself close to me, and whispered in my ear, begging me to live, saying he loved me and that we would be happy together once I was well. That notion… but it was nothing… Clearly a dream. I was…”
“I let him speak to you in that way because… I feared you would die, and I then believed him to be a good man, and… oh, Jane. My dear, dear, Jane. I did wrong. It was wrong and I ought to have known, and—”
“But you say he shall not return.” Jane’s voice stumbled over the words, slurring. She spoke too fast. “But surely it is nothing to me what he does or does not do. Whether he calls or not — no, nothing at all to me. We shall meet in company then. Yes, in company. And I will be perfectly serene, and we shall be as though we were nothing but friendly acquaintances. We are nothing but acquaintances. After all… no promises were made.”
Except those whispered into the ear of a woman he feared was dying.
“In any case — he said this to you himself?” Jane’s question was sharp. “When it was known that I shall not recover? You were quite agitated when you returned yesterday, after I was examined by Mr. Thompson and he told you all that I was blind… I thought it was only that you were sad for me — you need not be. I am perfectly fine. I will always be perfectly fine. And Mr. Bingley… He is nothing to me.”
“Nothing, he is nothing — all from his own mouth. With my own ears. I hate him for you.” Elizabeth looked down at her hand. She could barely see it in the moonlight through the curtains, and the low glow of the coals in the grate. At present, with no light, she was almost as blind as Jane.
The feel of her slap echoed up her arm again.
“Oh no, no. Do nothatehim. You ought to remain friends with him. For my own part… I have nothing to complain about. No. No… it is just such a surprise. I wish he could say himself to me that — but if he was full of emotion. Yes. Yes…”
“Jane, you can cry. You can be sad. Don’t pretend to be serene and feel nothing.”
