“Oh, my dear Mr. Darcy! I am so sorry to have kept you waiting alone all this time!”
Miss Bingley’s voice was shrill as she crossed the room and stood in between Darcy’s and Elizabeth’s chairs. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at once again being ignored.
“Do not trouble yourself, madam,” Darcy replied shortly before rising from his seat and moving to the window.
Miss Bingley made to follow him, but the arrival of the butler prohibited her from reaching her quarry. “Dinner is served.”
Once seated, Elizabeth realized that dinner was going to be a rather dismal affair. She was seated between Mr. Hurst and Bingley. The latter inquired after Jane several times, which warmed her heart, but his attention was frequently called away by his sisters.
When it came time for her to speak with Mr. Hurst, she was disappointed to discover his only interest was in canvasing their dinner options.
“You mean to tell me, Miss Elizabeth, that you prefer a simple roast to the intricacies of a well-prepared ragout?”
She admitted that it was so.
“But… but…” he sputtered. “But, my dear Miss Elizabeth! Even the heartiest of stews cannot compare to the blend of herbsand spices, the rich sauce, and the tender meat of a competent chef’s ragout! It’s a symphony for the taste buds as opposed to the bleating of a child’s horn.”
Elizabeth gave a soft laugh. “It is true; we all have our culinary preferences. To me, the simplicity of plain dishes represents the essence of good food. They allow the natural flavors to shine through without the distractions of excessive spices.”
“But there is an art to creating a perfectly balanced ragout,” interrupted Darcy. “It is a testament to culinary skill and refinement.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I do not dispute the artistry of a well-made ragout, Mr. Darcy. It requires a talented cook, certainly. But there is something comforting in the unadorned, the familiar. A well-cooked roast, with its crispy edges and tender center, or a hearty stew, reminds me of home and the warmth of simple pleasures.”
Bingley, eager to avoid anything that remotely appeared to be an argument, chimed in. “I suppose we are all influenced by our backgrounds and experiences. Your fondness for plain dishes reflects the values and traditions of your family.”
Mr. Hurst gave a grunt, whether in agreement or dissent Elizabeth could not say. She rather suspected the latter, as the gentleman continued in silence for the remainder of the dinner, immersing himself in his rather elaborate dish.
Unfortunately for Elizabeth, Bingley’s attention was continually demanded by his sisters. They spent most of the meal in discussions with Darcy about people in town with whom they associated, and Elizabeth—not knowing any of them—was unable to offer anything to the conversation.
At last the meal ended, and Elizabeth excused herself to check on Jane. As the door closed behind her, she heard the two women begin to abuse her to the gentlemen.
“She has the most deplorable manners, Louisa!”
As tempted as she was to remain and listen in, her concern for Jane outweighed all else. Upon arriving upstairs, she was alarmed to discover Jane’s fever, which had abated somewhat, had returned with a vengeance. There was now an additional cough, which caused Jane to thrash about restlessly in the bed.
Elizabeth immediately sent the maid to fetch more willow bark tea, then sat next to her sister on the bed to mop her forehead with a cool cloth. All the while, she cursed her mother for sending Jane out, and she cursed the maid for not having summoned her during the dinner. But mostly, she cursed herself for even having allowed her sister to go at all.
It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that Elizabeth was finally able to return to her own room, having soothed Jane into a deep slumber. She sank gratefully onto the soft mattress and immediately into sleep.
The following day passed in much the same manner. Mr. Jones was again summoned, and he repeated the same process of listening to Jane’s heart and taking her pulse.
“I think you may need to have one or both of your parents come,” he said grimly. “There is only so much that I can do.”
Elizabeth let out a little sob and put her fist to her mouth. “Do you think…? Is it…? Will Jane live?”
The elderly apothecary gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Perhaps a doctor from London would have more experience than myself with people like your sister. Unfortunately, we have reached the limits of my capabilities.”
After bidding Mr. Jones a numb farewell, Elizabeth sat at the desk to write a note to her father.
Papa,
Mr. Jones has come to see Jane twice now. He fears the worst and says there is nothing more that he can do.
Please come as quickly as may be.
Lizzy
After ensuring that Jane was fast asleep and that a maid was with her, Elizabeth made her way down the stairs. She gave the note to a footman. He was a young man she recognized as being the eldest son of a Longbourn tenant.
