At the spike of fear, the memory of the last time Jane had been ill and she had been unable to help transported her to anight three years past. A roar of thunder had awakened her from a light doze. She was in the rocking chair, where she had spent so much of her time in those days. A crack of lightning illuminated her father, in his nightshirt, supporting himself on the doorframe. Even in the low light, she could see that he was deathly pale except for the two bright spots of feverish colour on his cheeks.
“Take your brother out of here.”
“What? Papa, you should not be out of bed!” Neddy was asleep upon her shoulder but she stood, meaning to go to him, to help him into a chair; he held out his hand in a halting gesture, stopping her.
“Do not come any closer to me. There are nine dead now in the town. One of them is Charlotte Lucas.”
She closed her eyes. Charlotte, seven years older than her seventeen-year-old self, had seemed so self-possessed, so impervious to fevers; yet she had been the first Lucas stricken. Although forbidden, her two younger sisters had admitted to sneaking over to the quarantined Lucas Lodge to see Maria when they had pretended to be visiting Aunt Philips. Kitty had been the first at Longbourn to fall ill, with Lydia not far behind her. Mr and Mrs Bennet had shortly thereafter been stricken, along with the Hills, Cook, and yesterday, Jane.
“It is a miracle neither you, Mary, nor Edward has yet been affected. You and Mary must take the boy to Fox Hollow. There are some supplies there, and you are a clever girl. If anyone can keep the three of you alive, ’tis you.” He gave her a ghost of a smile.
“I cannot possibly leave you all. Who will take care of you? Rosie? Becca?” she asked, naming the two young maids not yet ill.
He gripped the doorframe more tightly; Elizabeth was certain he was near to falling over, but his voice was sharp.
“Listen to me. You know our family’s future depends upon that child you hold now in your arms.Heis our hope. By taking care of him, you take care of everyone.”
She looked down at her golden-haired six-month-old baby brother, sleeping so peacefully upon her shoulder. Teething and fussy, he had taken up nearly all her time, confining her to the nursery since Susannah, their nursery maid, had left to be married two weeks before, and the sister who was to replace her had come down ill.
“I have not the strength to argue with you,” her father had continued, more quietly now, leaning heavily against the frame. “If you love your family, you will get yourself and your brother to Fox Hollow and keep away from here for a few weeks. I will send a note to young Peter in the stables, notifying your uncle Philips. He will see you supplied with the necessities, I am certain.”
“We could go to my uncle Philips’s house. That would be easier for everyone.”
“Your aunt entertains often, and too many of her former guests are now ill. The best thing you can do is keep Edward away fromeveryoneuntil it passes. Will you do this for me? For all of us?” His voice cracked weakly on the question.
There had been only one answer.
“Yes, Papa.”
It was the last time she had seen him alive.
Mary and Peter had helped her get Neddy and some supplies to Fox Hollow, but her sister had refused to stay. Instead, bravely, she had returned to Longbourn and nursed the rest of them—miraculously, never growing ill herself. Butshe had never been the same since; in Elizabeth’s opinion, she blamed herself for not saving them all, or perhaps for not dying with her younger sisters and father—it was hard to say which. But she had become critical and addicted to preaching from good conduct books, no longer the quiet, sweet, sincere young girl she once used to be, and Elizabeth missed her more than words could say.
Mama had lived, but she, too, was no longer the same—brittle and blaming and excessively dependent upon Begonia Philips.
Henry Philips had helped at that time—sending his man over with food and other provisions to Fox Hollow for the weeks she had remained there, alone, with Neddy. It was no wonder she had trusted him, in the beginning.
But now Jane was ill again, and she was stuck here, unable to go to her, leaving her aloneagain…Jane, the only Bennet who had remained the same as she always had been—gracious, good-natured, and sensible. Jane, Jane—the kindest, gentlest person in England.
Jane, the only one in the family who still loved Elizabeth, despite everything.
Once in every great while, Elizabeth longed with all her heart for the freedom to do what she wished, when she wished it. For instance, right this minute, her greatest longing was to don her sturdiest boots and walk the miles between Fox Hollow and Netherfield.
But Mr Philips would not provide a nurse for Neddy, not unless she moved back to Longbourn. He could not stop Mrs Hill from watching him on occasion, but she would not be free to do so until evening. Elizabeth did not mind walking in the dark during a full moon, but the moonlight was waning now.Her lamp was a large old thing, probably heavier than she could manage for a distance of miles. Mr Hill would bring her to Netherfield, but risked the wrath of the Philipses in doing it.
Neddy played with the stack of wooden bricks, building a tall tower and gleefully knocking it down. Even at his young age, he could and would walk all the way to Netherfield, but what to do with him when arriving at the house? He was not a child who could be depended upon to sit quietly and await the finish of a visit, not for even a quarter-hour. And what if it began raining? She could not excuse a soaking.
A lump formed in the back of her throat.
Do not cry, Elizabeth Bennet, she lectured herself.Weeping is a useless waste of time.But the lump in her throat remained, regardless.
Mrs Finch emerged from her room, murmuring a soft greeting. She ruffled Neddy’s hair as she walked past him to take some bread and cheese.Couldshe leave Neddy with her elderly companion? She never had before, but possibly the kind old lady would agree. Yet even as she thought it, she knew it was a terrible idea. Neddy would want his walk soon, and Mrs Finch could never, ever keep up with him. Even less would she be able to cope with one of his tantrums at being left behind when Elizabeth departed.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of horses coming up the rutted drive. Was it Mr Hill, come of his own accord? Perhaps he had been able to bring the carriage under the guise of a different errand?
She hurried to the door, throwing it open; the wind was strong, and almost jerked it out of her hands.
But it was not Mr Hill and the farm horses hitched to the elderly Longbourn brougham. Instead, a stately chaise made its way along the rutted track before coming to a halt almost ather door. A tall man in black emerged from its elegant depths—Mr Darcy. Glancing up, he met her eyes briefly before having a word with his driver and turning to mount her front steps.
