Page 25 of The Widower of Pemberley

“Oh, my sweet Jane. You are always so self-sacrificing. Lizzy, listen to how good she is.Shedeserves that you care for her.”

“Unlike you,” Elizabeth replied.

“What do you mean?”

“You kept her from receiving the cowpox. And now that she is blind, you think nothing of her. Now that she cannot make a good marriage, she is worthless to you. But I—”

“Lizzy! Please.” Jane rose from the sofa and walked to Elizabeth. “Please!”

Elizabeth hissed in pain as Jane walked into her injured leg while trying to reach her, but she took her sister’s searching hands. “I apologise. I know that you hate it when we argue.”

“You must not fret so much about me.” Jane smiled at Elizabeth. “I do love you both dearly. Now let us argue no more.”

This plea was largely dismissed by their mother, but Elizabeth could not reply with proper spite while Jane was there to become upset, and after a while, Mrs. Bennet gave up the effort to convince her most difficult daughter and left with Jane. Elizabeth was then filled with a sense of shame and disquiet.

She did not know why, but this time her mother’s speech struck Elizabeth more strongly than usual. Was she terribly selfish because she did not pursue Mr. Bingley?

Dull Mr. Bingley.

Elizabeth spoke little when the rest of the party returned, though when Emily demanded her attention, Elizabeth made every effort to attend to her.

When she read a story to the girl—the same story that Emily had already made her read five times during the three days that she had been at Netherfield—Elizabeth’s mouth mechanically said the words, but her mind was not there.

Should she really stay true to her principles and to her intention not to marry without affection?

Affection could be built after a marriage. She could pick a man with a decent character, seek to attach herself to him, and let everything else follow.

That evening, after Emily went to bed, Georgiana sat down to practise the pianoforte while Mr. Hurst, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Bingley’s sisters played cards at the table. Mr. Darcy at first selected a book to read, but perhaps perceiving that Elizabeth paid no attention to her own book, he sat next to her. “You have been in poor spirits since your mother visited.”

This startled Elizabeth. “I have been? You noticed?”

He did not reply.

“We quarrelled about—I shall not say what exactly the matter was. But I cannot help but wonder whether Mama is right.”

There was a long silence.

Then Mr. Darcy said cautiously, “I perceived that Miss Bennet was particularly distressed by the conversation.”

“Poor Jane. She hates it when anyone quarrels. It is worse for her when my mother insists on using her condition to press her argument, insisting any refusal on my part proves I do not carefor my sister.” Elizabeth paused and frowned. “But Mama is right.”

“That you are uncaring of Miss Bennet?” Mr. Darcy asked. “Beyond any question that is not true.”

“No, no. She is right that we must determine how Jane will be cared for after Papa dies. That we cannot…” Elizabeth frowned. “But it was her fault. Jane hates to hear me say that, but it was Mama’s fault.”

“What was her fault?” When she did not immediately reply, he added, “You need not tell me, but I hope we might be friends. And this matter presses on your mind. Perhaps if you tell the story to one who knows little of the situation, I may be able to help you see it differently.”

To her own surprise, Elizabeth spoke. “When Jenner’s vaccine was first available in Meryton, Papa was delighted and decided to have the pus from the cow scratched into our arms. But Mama had heard that terrible things happened often to those who received the treatment and that it was deeply irreligious to receive it. She threw a fit. I still remember ten years later how angry she was that day.”

“And you did not receive Jenner’s inoculation?”

“All of us but Jane received it. Papa let Mama pick her favourite to ‘spare’ and took the rest of us to the doctor. I was quite jealous of Jane at the time because I was scared by the physician and how he scratched my arms, and afterwards the fever from the vaccine was unpleasant. But five years later smallpox came through Meryton and left my sister in her present state.”

Mr. Darcy watched her intently. Elizabeth had a sense of being fully listened to, as though this great gentleman had no other thought in his mind but her. “Mama always believed that Janewould be the saving of us—she was exceptionally lovely at sixteen. Before it happened. And—”

“She still is a beautiful woman.”

Elizabeth flushed; somehow Mr. Darcy praising her sister felt like a compliment to herself. It offset what he had said about Charlotte to some extent. “Yes, yes. But not in a way men can appreciate. She is scarred and blind.”