Page 48 of The Lost Prophecy

Chapter Eight: Cold Calls and Dark Eyes

BY ELEVEN O’CLOCK THE following morning, Jane had been installed by the drawing room fire with two shawls, a footstool under her feet, and a bowl of broth cooling untouched on the table.

Mrs Bennet had arranged all four items and now regarded her eldest daughter with the satisfaction of a physician who had personally defeated death. Jane’s attempts to explain that she felt almost recovered had produced another shawl.

“You must not presume on your strength,” Mrs Bennet declared as she tucked the edge around Jane’s knees. “Mr Bingley would never forgive us if you suffered a relapse.”

Jane’s colour deepened. “I believe my recovery chiefly concerns my family, Mamma.”

“Of course it does, my dear. But there is no reason to be selfish about it.”

Mr Bennet lowered his book far enough to examine his wife over the top. “Your mother is correct. Illness is a social responsibility. A young woman cannot expect to inconvenience an eligible gentleman for ten days and then recover without consulting him.”

Jane attempted to hide her smile behind her hand. Lydia and Kitty, who occupied the sofa nearest the window, made no such effort. Mary sat opposite them with a volume of sermons open on her lap and an expression that disapproved of laughter without having entirely resisted it.

Elizabeth remained next to Charlotte on the smaller sofa. Charlotte had arrived half an hour earlier and had the rare ability to enquire after Jane without either discussing her coffin or calculating the annual income of the man who had supplied the apothecary.

Mr Collins had placed his chair close to Elizabeth’s end of the sofa. Each time she leaned to Charlotte, he moved forward as well, determined that no private conversation should occur within the reach of his ears.

“I am gratified to observe Miss Bennet’s restoration,” he announced. “Lady Catherine has frequently remarked that good health is best preserved by sensible habits and obedience to superior advice.”

Charlotte glanced at Jane’s shawls. “Does Lady Catherine recommend a certain number?”

Mr Collins folded his hands over his stomach. “Her ladyship would consider the temperature of the room, the constitution of the patient, and the quality of the wool before reaching a decision.”

“She would probably require more garments than we have,” Elizabeth said. “Mamma has already exhausted the available shawls.”

Mrs Bennet turned from the fire. “Your cousin speaks very sensibly, Lizzy. If Jane had taken greater care, she would never have become ill.”

Jane lowered the broth she was reluctantly sipping. “You sent me to Netherfield on horseback in the rain.”

“I could hardly have predicted rain merely because the sky was black.”

Mr Bennet returned to his book. “Weather has always been deficient in consideration for your plans.”

A carriage approached along the drive before Mrs Bennet could defend herself. Lydia abandoned the window seat and pressed both hands to the glass.

“It is from Netherfield.”

Jane sat straighter. One shawl slipped from her shoulder, and Mrs Bennet rushed to restore it before hope could expose her to the air.

“Mr Bingley has come.” She turned her hopeful gaze to Hill, who had entered to announce the visitors.

Hill waited until her mistress paused. “Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, madam.”

Jane’s disappointment appeared only in the brief lowering of her eyes. Elizabeth saw it because she had expected the same name and experienced a disappointment of her own, which was unreasonable. Mr Darcy had never promised to call. He had merely said that he hoped their conversations would continue, and hope, as Mr Collins constantly demonstrated, could survive without assistance from likelihood.

Miss Bingley entered with Mrs Hurst behind her. Both women carried the chill of the morning into the room, although neither appeared affected by it. Miss Bingley approached Jane with graceful concern and extended both hands.

“My dear Miss Bennet, how relieved we are to find you downstairs. Charles has spoken of nothing but your health since we left Longbourn yesterday.”

Jane accepted the greeting. “Your brother has been exceedingly kind.”

“He wished to call again this morning, but Mr Darcy proposed riding and would not be persuaded to postpone it.” Miss Bingley sat in the chair Mrs Bennet indicated, smoothing her skirts with evident pleasure at having accounted for her brother’s absence and Mr Darcy’s in the same sentence.

Elizabeth smiled politely. If Miss Bingley expected evidence of disappointment, she had to work harder for it.

Mrs Hurst settled beside her sister. Her gaze travelled over the room, paused on Charlotte, and then rested on Mr Collins, who was still standing after the ladies’ entrance, and whose importance increased visibly beneath the attention.