Page 9 of Dear Friend

“And there is truly nothing I may do?”

“Nothing that requires you to cross this threshold.”

Mrs. Tunley reached out and briefly laid her hand upon Elizabeth’s sleeve. “Do not think me unkind, my dear. I know how attached you are to one another, and Julia would be the first to reproach me if I allowed you to carry the illness back to Longbourn. You have four sisters to consider.”

That argument could not be resisted.

Elizabeth lowered her eyes. “Yes. Of course.”

“You may write to her.”

She looked up at once. “May I?”

“Certainly. She is not so ill that a letter will trouble her, provided she is not expected to answer it. Indeed, I daresay hearing from you would please her exceedingly.”

“Then I shall write today.”

“I thought you might.” A faint smile touched Mrs. Tunley’s face. “I believe I have heard your name twenty times since yesterday morning. When she was told you could not be admitted, she was chiefly concerned that you might come all this way before anyone could warn you.”

Despite everything, Elizabeth almost smiled. “That sounds very like Julia.”

“It does.”

“Will you send word to Longbourn if there is any change?”

“You have my promise. And when the apothecary declares her fit to receive company again, you may be certain you shall be among the first to know.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tunley.”

“There now. Go home before you catch cold standing upon my step. I have one patient to nurse already and have no wish to answer to Mrs. Bennet for another.”

Under other circumstances the observation might have amused Elizabeth. Now she managed only a faint smile before taking her leave.

She had gone scarcely a dozen paces when she remembered the basket upon her arm and the errands she had intended to complete in Meryton. They seemed strangely unimportant now. She had expected nothing more from the morning than an hour in Julia’s company, perhaps tea beside the fire, some neighbourhood intelligence to laugh over, and one of those conversations which had acquired the comfortable habit of continuing long after either of them remembered how it had begun.

Instead there was a closed door behind her, and Julia lay ill beyond it.

Elizabeth turned towards Longbourn. She knew Mrs. Tunley was right. She knew the apothecary’s prohibition was sensible, that entering the cottage could do Julia no good and might expose every person at Longbourn to the same illness. Reason supplied every argument required of it.

It did not make walking away any easier.

~

Longbourn,

3rd January 1811

My dear Julia,

I have this moment returned from your aunt’s door in a humour which I assure you does me very little credit. To be within a few yards of you and yet forbidden to see you is a species of provocation for which I was quite unprepared. Since I am denied the pleasure of being troublesome at your bedside, however, I have determined to be troublesome upon paper instead. You cannot suppose that so trifling a circumstance as an illness will deliver you from me.

Your aunt told me what the apothecary believes your complaint to be, and I confess the name alarmed me. She assured me, however, that you passed a tolerable night, and I have resolved to remember the assurance rather than the alarm. You have never shown yourself particularly disposed to submit to anybody’s commands, and I cannot believe a fever will succeed where the rest of us have failed.

You are therefore to do nothing but rest and grow well. I shall undertake the more laborious business of keeping you acquainted with everything of consequence in Meryton, though as you know already, consequence is not always easily found here.

I went to the milliner’s this morning and spent nearly a quarter of an hour amongst the ribbons without deciding upon anything. I perceived then how thoroughly you have spoiled me. Had you been there, you would have pronounced one colour elegant, another intolerable, and a third entirely beneath my notice, and the matter would have been settled before I had time to disagree with you. I find myself quite unequal to the burden of forming opinions without your assistance.

I have already determined that upon the first fine morning after you are permitted abroad, we shall walk to Oakham Mount. You may protest against the distance if you please, but I shall remind you that illness cannot be allowed to improve your character so greatly that you cease complaining altogether. I should scarcely know you.