It was all Elizabeth could do to keep her countenance as she replied, “I believe she would look favorably upon such a request.I saw her face as you danced together, and she looked happy to be in your company.”
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth! I will ask her directly.”
Mr. Bingley’s face was open and happy. What a very nice man he is, Elizabeth thought. He would do very well for Jane.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth did not know if she was angrier with Mama for sending Jane out in the rain, or with Papa for not putting a stop to such obvious folly. Or perhaps with Miss Bingley for issuing the dinner invitation to Jane when the skies looked so threatening. Or maybe even with herself for not tying Jane to a chair rather than allowing her to venture out into a storm on horseback!
Papa had protested her leaving, as he had hoped to spend a few hours with her on their pet project, translating Canterbury Tales from Middle English, but Elizabeth was determined. She strode through the fields, boots and skirts mud-drenched, set on one thing – bringing her sister home where she could be properly tended. Doubtless this Bingley woman had simply abandoned Jane to the mercies of whatever maid was handiest. Jane belonged home at Longbourn, where she would be very tenderly nursed by Mama and by Elizabeth herself. Elizabeth would have to beg for the use of Mr. Bingley’s carriage, as Mama was still insisting that the horses were needed on the farm, and Papa had not dared to contradict her.
There was no one to greet Elizabeth at Netherfield’s front door, which was not a surprise. Netherfield was a leased estate with only a skeleton staff, and local gossip said that the current tenants had not yet hired additional servants. The door was notlocked, so Elizabeth walked into the front entrance and stopped. “Mr. Bingley?” she called out.
Silence.
“Miss Bingley?” she tried again.
Elizabeth heard a rapid patter of slippered feet, and Miss Bingley appeared. “Miss Eliza?” she said, surprised.
“It is Miss Elizabeth, but yes.”
“Whatever are you doing here?” The woman’s tone was one of horrified disbelief, as if a troll had entered her home.
“I have come to see my sister, of course.” Elizabeth could not keep the note of tartness from her voice.
“The apothecary was here and assured us that it is just a cold, MissElizabeth,” Miss Bingley replied, accenting ‘Elizabeth’ heavily. “No need for anyone to get worked up. And surely no need for frolicking about the countryside in the mud,” she added, staring pointedly at Elizabeth’s gown and boots.
Elizabeth considered several responses, but elected to simply repeat, “I have come to see my sister.”
Miss Bingley walked into the drawing room, leaving Elizabeth standing in the entry way, and tugged on a bell cord. A maid promptly appeared; seeing Elizabeth, she said, “Oh, Miss Elizabeth! Come to see Miss Bennet, I imagine; I will take you up.”
Miss Bingley interrupted. “You know themaid, Miss Elizabeth?” She sounded incredulous.
Elizabeth replied, “Of course; Martha is Mrs. Hill’s daughter.”
“And Mrs. Hill is…?”
“Longbourn’s housekeeper.”
Miss Bingley shook her head, and then turned and marched away.
As they walked up the staircase, Elizabeth whispered, “Heavy going, is it?”
Martha whispered back, “A right cow, that one is. None of us like her.”
“How is Jane, Martha?”
“She will live, no thanks to anyone here,” Martha replied, disapprovingly.
Martha stopped at the door to the first bedroom to the left of the landing. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “I know this room; the fireplace is too small to heat the room properly and so it is always cold.”
Martha said, “There are six more bedrooms, every one of them warmer than this one. Though the best bedroom is being used for some friend of theirs, a Mr. Darcy. Some sort of god, he is, according to her highness downstairs.” She turned to leave, adding, “You ring if you need something for Miss Bennet, and I will come right up.”
Thanking her, Elizabeth opened the door and walked in. Jane was lying on her back, head propped up with two pillows. Her eyes opened and, after a moment, focused on Elizabeth. Jane opened her mouth and croaked out, “Lizzy…?”
“Oh, Jane.” Elizabeth knelt at her sister’s bedside and took Jane’s hands in her own. “I have come to ask Mr. Bingley to let us use his carriage to take you home, but I fear you are too ill to be moved.”
“I want to go home, Lizzy. It is so very cold here.” It was practically a whimper. Jane almost never complained, bearing her trials with endless patience. She must be deeply uncomfortable to voice even as mild a criticism as this.
