“Yes, my dear. I have not the strength to perform it alone, and we judged you would prefer the assistance of a friend to that of a footman.”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth turned as directed, and Mr. Darcy drew near.
“Miss Bennet, pray tell me if I cause you pain.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mary took her place on the other side and supported her sister, while Mr. Darcy gathered Elizabeth’s curls and laid them over her shoulder, that he might not pull upon her hair as he performed the treatment.
“Mrs. Collins, I do not wish to cause Miss Elizabeth pain.”
“Lizzy is awake, sir. She will tell you if the cupping proves too vigorous or causes discomfort.”
Hesitantly, he began the percussion along the length of her back, and almost at once a cough seized Elizabeth and continued until she could no longer bear it.
“My sides pain me.”
Mary leaned close. “Your sides, Lizzy? They pain you?”
“Yes, from coughing.”
Mr. Darcy stepped back. “Perhaps it would better serve Miss Elizabeth if I return in two or three hours and perform a shorter session. Do you believe that would answer?”
“Yes, sir, I believe it may.”
“Mrs. Collins, her skin is flushed.” Mr. Darcy turned to Mary in inquiry.
Mary placed her hand upon Elizabeth’s forehead. “She needs more Willow Bark tea.”
Miss Anne poured a cup of the tepid tea and offered it to her friend.
Darcy watched as she took the light amber draught. She returned the half-filled cup to Mary.
“Lizzy, my dear, pray finish it. You are feverish, and this is Willow bark. It will make you more comfortable.”
Elizabeth did not resist but drank the remainder, then slipped beneath the coverlet.
Darcy regarded her with concern. “Mrs. Collins, her lips have a bluish cast.”
“Yes, sir, yet she improves. Each treatment clears her lungs a little more. To my eye, she appears better.”
It was arranged that he should return in three hours, and the two cousins withdrew.
When they entered the library, Georgiana rose at once. “How is Lizzy?”
Darcy was grave. “She is ill, Georgie. I am concerned about her. She can scarcely speak and remains feverish. Her lips bear a bluish cast.”
“No, Fitzwilliam,” Anne said. “Dr. Miller assured us she is young and strong. You must not distress yourself, nor Georgiana. Lizzy will recover. Did not Mary tell us she sat up this morning and took two cups of tea? She has already improved.”
“But her lips are blue, and her skin looks gray...”
“You must not brood. She is better. Go out and ride. Richard, go with him. When you return, cousin, we shall take a light luncheon, and then you will attend to Lizzy’s treatment. You will see for yourself that she is recovering.”
He rose. “Yes, of course. I shall go up and change. Georgiana, come with us. I fear I have distressed you, but a ride upon Daisy will restore you.”
Two hours later, Darcy tapped upon the door. He was afraid. Would Elizabeth improve? She appeared wholly altered. This was not the same woman whose songs had carried him to the heights of delight and then cast him into the depths with their haunting words and melancholy strain. This was not the same woman who could run for miles along the bluffs, her curls loosening and falling down her back.
