Indisposed Read online

  Mrs. Bennet stopped and turned to her second daughter with a quizzical look. “Whatever can you mean, Elizabeth Bennet? Do you think Lydia would not behave properly?”

  “Oh, no!” Elizabeth responded quickly—for there was never any headway to be made with Mrs. Bennet by slighting her youngest daughter. “I mean only that… that Jane’s success with Mr. Bingley will depend greatly on the favor of the sister who acts as his hostess. If Miss Bingley were to feel that she paled in comparison to our lively Lydia, perhaps she would be less eager to invite Jane to tea or to dine.”

  Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips and raised a finger. “Quite shrewd, Lizzy. I knew you were clever for some purpose. Very well. Lydia?” She called to her youngest, who was still preening before the mirror in her own room. “You are to stay here—no, better yet, you and Kitty must call on Maria this afternoon. I shall go to Mrs. Long, and between us all, we shall know what everyone is saying of Mr. Bingley after last night.”

  Elizabeth drew near to her sister, who was sighing in obvious relief. “You will not mind going to face Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst alone?” she asked.

  Jane began to shake her head, but Mrs. Bennet overheard. “Alone? No, no, we cannot send her alone. A second companion was requested, and a second companion we shall secure. If it is not to be Lydia for fear of overshadowing your hostess, then it must be Elizabeth or Mary. Elizabeth had her chance last night, so Mary it is.”

  Jane’s eyes widened in horror, but she was spared any further objections on the matter when Mary flatly refused to make herself amenable to her mother’s plans. “It does not behoove us to wander about the countryside, paying calls on those who care little for us, when our time might be better spent in attaining such accomplishments as are fitting for a lady.” She turned back into her room, closing the door, and Mrs. Bennet’s expectant gaze fell at last on Elizabeth.

  “Oh, Mama, no,” Jane objected. “Lizzy was ill all last evening. We cannot ask her to ride on a horse and stay out a second night when she is still unwell.”

  “Oh, she is not terribly ill. Are you, Lizzy?” Mrs. Bennet, loving mother that she was, was keenly incapable of letting go her scheme of presenting two eligible daughters to the gentlemen of Netherfield Park. She scrutinized Elizabeth with more hope than understanding and pronounced her “… fit enough for a simple supper. After all, it is not as if there will be dancing this evening, and like as not, you will be staying all night rather than making a cold journey home.”

  Elizabeth rested a hand on her sister’s and nodded to her mother. “I will be perfectly well by the time we are ready to go. Not to worry, Jane.”

  Elizabeth’s face drew into a pained expression as she and Jane turned their horses into the main drive at Netherfield Park. She felt colder than she had ever been. Dizziness made her constantly clutch at the saddle, a dull ache had settled into her bones, and each jarring step of iron hoof on gravel seemed to shatter her very joints. “This,” she muttered to Jane between clenched teeth, “is why I dislike riding.”

  “Do you wish to go home?” Jane asked. “There is no need for you to suffer all evening at dinner if you are already feeling thus. Perhaps we can ask Miss Bingley to lend you the carriage for your return.”

  “Mr. Bingley has the carriage, remember?”

  “Oh… well, perhaps they are wealthy enough that they have two. Or perhaps Mr. Darcy left a carriage?”

  “As if I would ride in that man’s carriage! And I am sure even Miss Bingley would not dare to lend his vehicle without his consent.”

  Jane bit her lip. “Was he very rude to you? I mean, are you certain of what you heard? It could have been a misunderstanding.”

  “It was no misunderstanding. He compared me to a stable hand, and it was not a favorable comparison. He looked right at me after he had said it, so I am quite sure of it.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, at least we are not to see the gentlemen tonight. We need not stay as Mama planned. After all, it might not rain.”

  Just as she spoke, the first few droplets splattered dark stains over her cloak. The drops rapidly increased to a downpour, and the girls both urged their horses to a trot. By the time they reached the main door and a groom handed them down, they were thoroughly wet. Elizabeth, whose cloak was not of such a fine weave as Jane’s, was soaked nearly to the skin. She longed for nothing more than a hot blaze by which she might dry out her clinging, damp garments, but they were shown instead to a formal drawing room where their hostesses sat as far from the fireplace as possible. Perhaps Miss Bingley meant to impress them by the size of the room, but Elizabeth could only accept the mercifully dry shawl she was offered and shiver in silence.

  Conversation was abrupt and stilted. Jane was typically a genial sort, but it was apparent that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were accustomed to only the most sophisticated of discourse. At each twitch of their expressive lips or upward thrust of their sculpted brows, Jane grew ever more intimidated by her neighbors. Elizabeth, who was ordinarily her salvation in such cases, was uncharacteristically quiet. In truth, she was struggling every minute not to succumb to full body shivers and chattering teeth, and it took all her dignity not to wrap tightly into the offered shawl and curl herself up on that great Persian rug before the hearth.

  By dinner, her struggle for an appearance of fortitude was over. So pale was she that even Mrs. Hurst looked her over in concern. “Good heavens, Miss Eliza. You are in no condition to be sitting down here in a draft. Are you ill?”

  Elizabeth nodded, and a violent quaking of her lower jaw when she answered, “Yes-s, ver-ry,” was enough to make Miss Bingley gesture urgently for a maid.

  “My goodness, Miss Eliza!” she exclaimed. “Whatever could your mother have been thinking to send you out on horseback in a rain shower? Bishop, I am afraid Miss Eliza will require a room. Will you draw her a hot bath, please?”

  “Lizzy,” Jane whispered, “do you wish for me to attend you?”

  Elizabeth shook her head miserably. “I just want to sleep.”

  Chapter 3

  It was the first morning he had felt entirely himself since arriving at Netherfield. Darcy came down the stairs with a spring in his step and his riding coat tastefully fitted to his frame. Even a light mist, such as now presided over the Hertfordshire fields, would not keep him indoors this day. Bingley declined to join him, however, citing pressing business.

  Darcy scoffed to himself. The only “pressing business” Bingley ever had was dogs, horses, or blonde country ladies. It was no difficulty to discern which kept the master of Netherfield bound to his drawing room. He would have to speak to Bingley about the ways of manipulative mothers and seductive daughters. To be sure, Miss Bennet did not appear to be a fortune hunter, and what little he knew of her was all benign enough, but Bingley ought to be reminded to keep his head about him.

  The ride was everything pleasant and invigorating. His mount had been fresh from two days of no exercise, and three miles at a spanking trot over the meadows did them both wonders. When Darcy returned to the house, he found Miss Bingley fretting most elegantly in the hall—apparently waiting for him.

  “Oh, Mr. Darcy, I was so hoping you could speak some sense into my brother. Why, he absolutely insists that Miss Eliza must have an apothecary, but there is none to be got. We have just had word that the only man in Meryton, a Mr. Jones, has gone on some business to Town. Now, Charles is insisting that we send for some fine surgeon who resides halfway to London, all the way in Middlebrook! Even Miss Bennet seems to think it unnecessary. Why, Miss Eliza has only a trifling cold, but Charles is simply set on it. Do see if you can speak to him, will you not?”

  Darcy was still permitting the footman to take his hat and coat as she exhausted her request, and he fought a roll of his eyes. “If Bingley feels it is right to offer the best care to his guest, then it can only be an honor to you as her hostess. Why would this trouble you?”

  “Oh! I certainly do not mind the trouble, and as to the expense, think nothing of
it. What I object to is the idea of granting these country upstarts all the dignity that would be accorded those of much higher rank. ‘Twill go to their heads—mark my words, sir.”

  “Is Miss Elizabeth very ill today?”

  “Miss Bennet insists that she is. For all I know, the creature is always a languishing lily, too withdrawn to make much conversation and too fine to sustain a short three-mile ride in the afternoon. I suppose I must be relieved that she is not like some of these common hoydens who traipse about getting mud on their petticoats! At least it is a mercy we need not endure the typical brash country ways.”

  “I thought I noticed a hint of fever about her complexion at the Assembly,” Darcy mused, somewhat ignoring Miss Bingley.

  Miss Bingley sniffed. “I am simply astonished that you noticed her at all. Not a feature to recommend her, and that mother!”

  Darcy cut her off with a curt nod, not wishing to be subjected to another of Miss Bingley’s diatribes on the Meryton folk. “I will speak to Bingley.”

  He sought the drawing room and was informed that the master was in his study. However, as he walked by the library, he stopped at the sharp clattering sound of a chair scraping across the floor. He looked inside to discover Miss Bennet, standing on her toes and doing her best to reach a book that was still too high for her.

  “May I be of assistance, Miss Bennet?”

  She jumped, then sighed in relief. “If you do not mind, sir. I was searching for something to read to my sister, but Mr. Bingley’s library is…”

  “Abysmal,” he finished.

  Miss Bennet blushed. “I have no complaints of my own—pray, do not think I would criticize this beautiful collection, but my sister is a rather discerning reader. Moreover, her aching head has made her less patient than usual, and I was trying to find something to suit her taste.”

  Darcy gestured to the book Miss Bennet had been trying to reach. “May I?”

  She stepped back, and he retrieved the book. Expecting to discover a silly novel such as most young ladies read, he was astonished when his eye caught the title. “Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazusae?”

  “Is that how you pronounce it? Elizabeth just wrote the title down, along with a few others, to see if I could find something like them. She was in the mood for something comedic, she said, but with such a title, I fail to see how it could be amusing.”

  Darcy asked to see the remaining titles requested by Miss Elizabeth and his brows raised in interest. “I am surprised you found even this one in Bingley’s collection. Miss Elizabeth’s requests are better suited to a grand library. She does have fine taste, but I am sorry to say you are not likely to satisfy it here.”

  Miss Bennet took the list back and tucked it under the cover of Thesmophoriazusae. “Elizabeth does enjoy a good book, far more than I do. It suits her and helps her to pass the time.”

  Darcy bowed slightly from the waist. “Then I am glad I could be of service. I hope your sister recovers soon.”

  A curious shadow crossed Miss Bennet’s face as she curtsied and withdrew. “So do I, sir.”

  The surgeon was duly sent for. His name was Paulson, and he came late in the afternoon—an over-young, over-eager sort of man who seemed pleased that his reputation had spread so far as Meryton. He possessed a curious leathern satchel, from which he withdrew a pair of thick spectacles immediately upon entering the house. “If you please, sir,” he said to Mr. Bingley, “I am ready to see the patient now.”

  What followed was over an hour of silence from above stairs, save for the frequent passing of maids. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst remained in or at least near Miss Elizabeth’s room for the duration, though not, Darcy imagined, without complaint. When Paulson came below, the ladies rapidly vanished to the comforts of their own rooms with their own abigails in attendance. The surgeon was shown into Bingley’s study with a grave expression.

  At his look, Bingley had the doors closed. “How is Miss Elizabeth?”

  Paulson thinned his lips and carefully removed his heavy spectacles. “It is very serious. Has her family been informed of her illness?”

  “Naturally. We sent a messenger last evening and again this morning when she had not improved. The notes we received back sounded grateful and concerned, but not at all fearful or surprised.”

  The surgeon nodded. “That is as I might have expected. It is likely this has been coming on for some while, but the family are not aware how acute it is become.”

  Darcy edged forward. “How acute what is? Is this more than a simple cold?”

  “I should say so. I might have expected it—I have been hearing reports of more cases from low-lying villages and the like. It is the damp air, of course, and… well, I do not mean to slight such a good family as I understand the Bennets to be, but…”

  “But what?” Bingley interrupted.

  “Well, sir,” the surgeon said with mild condescension, “many of these old manor houses are ventilated ill. They may harbor any number of putrid humors, and if they are not aired regularly, many a healthy young person is stricken down in the prime of their strength. We do not know precisely the cause, but consumption can raise its dreadful head almost anywhere.”

  “Consumption!” Darcy exclaimed. “Can you be sure?”

  “For a certainty. There is no blood in her sputum yet, but it is only a matter of time. Her fever, her marked deterioration, why, even the color of her blood when I bled her all confirm it. I understand she took a chill when walking out of doors in the rain, which must have weakened her for the final blow. Now, I ask you, sir, ought a truly robust young lady be brought so low by a simple cold?”

  “Perhaps it is a sudden, passing sort of ailment,” Bingley suggested.

  “Such as one might expect with a typical fever,” Darcy added.

  The surgeon shook his head. “No, no, if it were a mere passing illness, we would see others similarly afflicted. A fever of such severity with no fellow sufferers can only mean that it is as I have feared; she has contracted the disease and some slight ailment—even something so little as a thorough chilling—will finish it. I understand your well-intentioned desires, my good sirs. No one wishes to pronounce a death sentence over a lovely young lady, but you must prepare yourselves. I expect that young and strong as she is, she will rally after this first attack and seem to begin a recovery. Then again, she might not. Even if she should survive this episode, she will only experience more of such and decline until she has no strength remaining to her. I can prescribe some elixir to ease her, but it is not a curative. Rum and boiled milk, sweetened with loaf sugar. It is pleasant to the taste, and it will help ease her cough and strengthen her blood.”

  “We will see that she has all she can drink,” Bingley answered quickly.

  “Very good, sir. Oh, and one last piece of advice. Once a mind understands that the body is perishing, the spirit is too often fleeting. For Miss Elizabeth’s sake, I suggest that she not be told of her condition until it is deemed absolutely necessary.”

  Darcy felt a numbness in his stomach that he had not felt in some ages. Why, he could not say, for who was Miss Elizabeth to him? But she was a striking young lady, well-loved by her community it seemed, and evidently possessed of a mind he could respect. And he had spoken badly of her, undeservedly so. What a cad he had been to a lady who was nearly at death’s door!

  “Poor Miss Bennet!” Bingley lamented between themselves after the surgeon had gone. “She is so terribly fond of her sister. This news will crush the dear woman!”

  “Dear?” Darcy asked with a raised brow. “It is come to that already?”

  “Paulson said nothing to her,” Bingley continued, ignoring Darcy’s objection. “How shall I be the one to carry the news? Poor Miss Bennet!”

  “It is Miss Elizabeth who ought to receive the lion’s share of your pity. Surely, she must be told of her own condition.”

  “No, I am sure Paulson is quite right. And even if she ought to be told, it could not come from me. Why, I b
arely know the lady! Who would wish to hear such a report from a near stranger? Perhaps I must ride over to Mr. Bennet and explain the matter to him, and then he and Mrs. Bennet can condole with their daughter properly. Oh, dash it all, Darcy, but I have not the stomach for it!”

  “It is your duty,” Darcy reminded him.

  Bingley shook his head miserably. “Pray, Darcy, will you come with me?”

  Darcy caught his breath and nodded tightly. “Very well.”

  The study door burst open and Miss Bingley hurried to them. “Mr. Darcy, Charles, is it true? Has she brought disease upon us all?”

  “It is true that Miss Elizabeth is very ill,” Bingley answered slowly.

  “But consumption! Shall we all fall next?”

  Darcy shook his head impatiently. “Many suffer consumption without passing the illness to their families. Why, it is quite the popular way to die these days, for the disease renders its victims fashionably pale and retiring.”

  “I should rather be hale and well, thank you. How could a lady ever preside over a household or bear heirs for her husband if she is forever dying?” This she said with a sideways glance at Darcy, which he ignored. “I dearly hope Miss Eliza’s contagion shall spread no further. Charles, I insist that she be returned home at the earliest convenience.”

  “She is dying, possibly this very night!” Bingley protested.

  “I do not think the matter is so urgent as that,” Darcy replied, but with an uncomfortable tightness in his voice. To soothe both brother and sister, he added, “However, we ought to give due consideration to the matter of her removal to Longbourn. I speak for the lady’s comfort more than our own. Surely, she would prefer to be surrounded by all that is familiar at such a time. And we have not spoken of the possibility that the surgeon could have been mistaken.”