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Mrs. Allums looked at me seriously and we both knew what she was thinking. My secret would not be a secret much longer. I could not stand by and watch a childhood playmate suffer just to protect myself.
“We must get you to him before Mr. Jones. They will think they made a mistake and the limb was never broken,” she whispered to me.
I did not see how that would be possible. Mr. Jones stood next to the men lifting poor Joseph out of the wagon, and they would quickly take him to the chamber at the back of the house.
My mother had had a small parlor near the kitchen converted to a bedchamber for her Uncle Fergus, an elderly gentleman who did not manage stairs well. He visited every now and then, often unexpected, so Mama had left the room as it was, and the maids gave it a good dusting once each month. On his last visit two years ago, I had asked him to turn my pages at the pianoforte and had sat as close as I could, my leg pressed against his. He did not like to be touched or I would have found a way sooner, but the end result was that his limp was gone by morning. He then made plans to travel Ireland, and we had not seen him since.
Maids were scrambling to ready the chamber and soon Joseph was laid out on the bed, a bottle of spirits on the table and hot water being readied.
“Everyone out! I need space to work,” cried Mr. Jones.
“Would you like some assistance, Mr. Jones?”
“Mrs. Allums! I did not see you in the commotion. Yes, assistance would be greatly appreciated. Can you hold his other side steady while I set the leg?”
“Of course.”
Poor Joseph had passed out by now, and the room had emptied of everyone else except my father, who stood in the doorway looking worried. He had taken Joseph on as a child of five at the request of the local vicar. The boy’s family had died and no one wished to see him sent to an orphanage or a workhouse. My father had offered to take him in and had taught him to read and given him a job in the stables. The grooms and driver were all terribly fond of him, and I could hear them crowding into the kitchen on the other side of the wall.
“Someone should hold his shoulders,” said Mr. Jones. “He will likely wake in a state.”
My father stepped into the room. “I will do it.”
I had squeezed in next to Mrs. Allums, still in my rundown dress and simple bonnet. I kept my head down and my eyes on Joseph, praying he would be well and my father would not recognize me.
For a moment, my father and Mr. Jones stepped away to speak to each other, and I took the opportunity to reach out and place both hands on Joseph’s broken leg. I could see where it twisted at an unnatural angle below the knee. I gingerly placed one hand over the injury and the other just below it. I dared not sing or hum and draw attention to myself, so I closed my eyes and focused all of my attention on Joseph. I pictured him riding a horse in the paddock, running through the back garden with me and Jane, showing us how to drive our mother’s gig. I pictured him smiling and happy and well. I sent every ounce of energy I could into his leg, until my arms shook with the effort.
I felt a jerk and my body slammed back into Mrs. Allums. I looked at her in surprise—she did not usually pull me thusly—and she subtly gestured to my father and the apothecary, who were now standing on the other side of the bed, only a few feet away.
“Sneak out the door,” she whispered in my ear.
I nodded and took a step back, acting like I was fetching something from Mrs. Allums’s bag, then slipped out the door. Once I was safely in the corridor, I looked over my shoulder to see how Joseph fared—and met the wide eyes of my father.
3
Ipacedmyroom,nervous energy coursing through my veins. I had taken off the bonnet and ill-fitting clothes, but I could not put my own gown on without assistance. All the maids were busy and my sisters would wonder why I was undressed at this time of day. I must wait for my mother.
Finally, she bustled into the chamber I shared with Mary and began doing up my buttons.
“Did your father see you?”
I swallowed. “I believe he did.”
She sighed. “And Joseph?”
“He did not see me, but his leg looked straighter when I left. I do not know if it was fully repaired. I had not much time.”
My mother nodded as she tied a bow in the ribbon at my back. “I will speak to your father. All will be well, Elizabeth.”
I turned to face her. “Might we tell him the truth? He is my father! He will hardly drag me off to Bedlam.”
My mother took a deep breath. “I do not know how he will react. Let me speak to him, assess his mood, and we shall go from there.”
I nodded, resigned, but I was so very tired of the secrets.
In my wilder dreams, I thought of setting up a clinic of sorts in Longbourn, perhaps in the stillroom or one of the outbuildings. If people were ill or injured, they might simply come to me. There would be no need for all of this subterfuge and hiding and disguise.
I sighed. I knew it was only a dream. Though I had healed dozens of them without their knowledge, the residents of Meryton would sooner exile me than accept such an oddity within their ranks.
