Page 20 of The Lost Prophecy

Everyone at Netherfield was freezing cold, no one ate a bite, and Mr Darcy’s silver punch bowl had just attempted to adopt her.

JANE’S FEVER WAS UNCHANGED by evening. She had slept through much of the afternoon, awakened long enough to drink tea, and assured Elizabeth that she felt much better before falling asleep midway through the assurance. Mr Jones had promised steady improvement rather than a miracle, but Elizabeth found the fine distinction far less reasonable each time she touched Jane’s warm forehead.

Mrs Nicholls came shortly before dinner, accompanied by a maid carrying fresh water and yet another tureen of rich broth. Elizabeth hesitated at the door until the housekeeper gently reminded her that Jane would gain nothing from having two women watch her sleep.

The Netherfield party had gathered in the main drawing room. Mr Bingley abandoned the roaring hearth the moment Elizabeth entered and reached her before his elegant sisters could offer the formal enquiry expected of them.

Mr Bingley wrung his hands. “How is Miss Bennet this evening?”

Elizabeth offered a reassuring nod. “Much the same as she was this morning. Her fever has not risen, and Mr Jones remains satisfied.”

Mr Bingley leaned closer. “Has she eaten?”

Elizabeth smiled. “She has taken tea and a little broth.”

Mr Bingley’s eyes moved to the bell pull.

Elizabeth placed herself squarely between him and the cord. “There are already two tureens upstairs, Mr Bingley.”

He looked sheepish. “A third might contain a variety she prefers better.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Unless it contains a miraculous cure, I believe the kitchen may rest for the evening.”

Mrs Hurst approached and touched Elizabeth’s arm lightly. “Your sister could not be in better hands. Mrs Nicholls has ruled Netherfield far longer than Charles has occupied it, and the household obeys her much more readily.”

Mr Bingley accepted the gentle rebuke, although he continued directing his wide eyes at the ceiling. Miss Bingley offered a polite hope for Jane’s swift recovery, then turned the conversation to dinner before her brother could propose rebuilding the kitchen nearer the blue chamber.

The meal followed the curious pattern Elizabeth now understood to be ordinary at Netherfield. Elaborate food arrived, was formally distributed, and remained uneaten, while the dark contents of the household decanter diminished at an astonishing, frightening speed. Elizabeth received her claret from a separate bottle and consumed enough roast beef to confirm that she had not adopted her hosts’ advanced interpretation of fruit.

Mr Bingley attempted to eat for her benefit, but placed the same piece of potato into his mouth twice without successfully swallowing it. Mr Hurst devoted himself to his glass. Mrs Hurst shifted food around her plate with useless industry, while Miss Bingley appeared to regard eating as a vulgar accomplishment beneath women of superior breeding.

Elizabeth allowed her eyes to travel around the large dining room. An ornate frame occupied the wall above the sideboard, but it contained a landscape where she would have expected a mirror. The candle branches had plain metal backs rather than reflective mirrored plates. Even the decorative cabinet displayed painted panels where glass might ordinarily have appeared.

The drawing room had been arranged in the same fashion. Expensive paintings, thick tapestries, and polished wood occupied every wall, yet not one mirror interrupted them. The blue chamber contained a small dressing glass, but the downstairs rooms appeared to have rejected reflection as firmly as they rejected luncheon.

Mr Bingley placed his fork beside the potato he had utterly failed to conquer. “Miss Elizabeth, you are very quiet. Have we neglected you?”

Elizabeth took a sip of her wine. “Not at all. I was admiring the decoration.”

Miss Bingley inclined her head smoothly. “Netherfield was heavily furnished before Charles took possession. Some alterations were necessary.”

Elizabeth looked at her. “You do not favour mirrors?”

A pause passed around the table along with nervous glances and tight shrugs.

Mrs Hurst reached quickly for her dark glass. “The former tenant had an unfortunate zeal for them. Charles removed several because they multiplied the candlelight unpleasantly.”

Elizabeth smiled politely. “Did he remove all of them?”

Mrs Hurst laughed. “The house has many long passages. You cannot have inspected every wall.”

Elizabeth accepted this without agreement. “I have inspected more of them than I originally intended. The house strongly discourages direct travel.”

Mr Hurst settled deeper into his chair. “The west corridor returns everyone to the same staircase. I once spent half an hour attempting to reach the billiard room and found myself lost outside my own bedchamber three times.”

“That may have been the wine, Brother,” Mr Bingley noted brightly.

Mr Hurst huffed. “The wine had no difficulty finding its intended destination.”