Chapter One
Jane sensed that it had been some hours when she woke again.
The young woman who had found her was beside her bed in a brown walking dress, reading silently.
Jane watched her quietly for a moment before alerting the lady to Jane’s new situation of wakefulness.
If this was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Jane could not wait to see Mrs Jane Bingley, for how could anyone be more beautiful than this stunningly pretty young creature?
The young woman’s eyes were shadowed; her face showed signs of anxiety.
Had the young lady stayed up all night tending her?
Of course, Elizabeth Bennet would certainly have done so.
Stop it, she admonished herself sternly. Of course this is not Elizabeth Bennet. You were dreaming.
Where could she possibly be? She had been at least a mile and a half from anything but Godmersham Park and some tenant cottages when she fell. This was no tenant cottage. This was a generously sized guest room in what appeared–just from what she saw from the bed–to be a grand house.
It was time for some answers. Jane lightly cleared her throat, and the young woman with the glossy chestnut curls looked up with bright, intelligent eyes.
“Oh, what a relief! I feared you would sleep away the day, and I might never learn who you are!” The young woman sprang from her chair, making a note of the page number of her book before she set it down.
“What is your name?” Jane asked as the young woman leaned over and felt her forehead, then hurried over to the wash stand and poured water from a pitcher into a fine crystal glass.
“You must not remember that I introduced myself when you were found, you were awake for only a moment.” The young lady returned and gave her the glass of water. “My name is Miss Bennet. What is your name?”
“I remember you,” Jane said slowly, then sipped her water. It is her! Whatever shall I tell her about me? Where on earth am I? Meryton is not even a real place!
“I cannot remember my name,” Jane said weakly, uncertain how she should act next.
“When I found you, you said that your name was Miss Jane.” The young woman gazed at her curiously. “Do you remember that?”
“No,” Jane lied. Is it wrong to lie to a fictional character while in a delusion? “I do not remember that.”
“Does it sound right to you? Do you think your name is Jane?” Miss Bennet pressed.
“It might be,” Jane hedged. “My head hurts terribly, I am afraid I cannot think.”
“Amnesia!” Miss Bennet exclaimed. “How curious! I have heard of such things but never thought I should see it for myself. Can you remember anything at all? No? Oh, do forgive me, you are hurt, and here I am interrogating you. No one in the village has any information about visitors or travellers expected, and no carriage has been found for miles. My brother and my father sent out riders to make inquiries. Everyone is quite curious how you came to be on a small mount on my father’s estate all alone, there is no road near it for some distance. ”
Jane was thoughtful. “Where am I?” she asked.
“You are at Netherfield Park in Meryton, which is in the county of Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth explained.
“Netherfield is the home of my sister, Mrs Bingley, and her husband. You were found on my father’s estate, Longbourn, but it was decided that my sister would host you.
Allow me to inform her that you are awake, and we shall send for Mr Jones! ”
A quarter hour later, Jane had made a swift decision that it was not wicked to lie to fictional characters while in a delusion.
It was obvious that she must be in a delusion, for Meryton was a made up village.
There was no such place in Hertfordshire, nor the kingdom, to her knowledge, and so she surmised that she must either have hit her head very hard, or that–by some trick of magic–the wishing well was giving her a taste of something more?
If she were in Meryton, that could only occur in her own mind.
One could not lie to oneself, could one?
In any case, she could not very well have her hosts sending to Godmersham Park looking for her family, only to learn there were no such people there.
Would there even be a Godmersham Park in her delusion?
She had better not risk it. Miss Jane would have to feign amnesia, until she understood what was happening and how she came to be here.
Besides, something was wrong with her story, and she was determined to learn what had gone awry.
After perhaps five minutes, a maid entered the room to assist her to the chamber pot, which was in the dressing room behind a screen.
Jane was back in bed and the maid was leaving with the covered pot when Miss Elizabeth Bennet returned, followed by a statuesque blonde and a footman pushing a tea trolley.
Her eyebrows shot up as she took in the blonde’s stunning pulchritude.
Had her imagination created this magnificent beauty?
Jane was rather impressed with her own brilliance for a moment as she took in the other woman’s radiance.
Never did I believe that anyone could eclipse dearest Cassandra.
Could an imagination surpass reality? Jane could not say for certain.
“Good morning, I am Mrs Bingley,” the beautiful woman introduced herself. “Would it be acceptable–until we learn your identity–if we address you as Miss Jane?”
“That would be very acceptable,” Jane answered agreeably. “I have only become a little acquainted with your sister, I do thank you for your kindness, Mrs Bingley.”
“How do you feel?” Mrs Bingley asked.
“I feel very sore, like I am injured everywhere,” confessed Jane honestly. “I have a terrible headache, and I feel as if I have been thrown down a cliff.”
“I must assure you, that though you bear the marks and bruises of such a fall, you were found at the top of the cliff at Oakham Mount, not the bottom,” Miss Bennet assured her.
“You are indeed bearing a great number of bruises and small injuries on your back and the back of your head, Miss Jane.” Mrs Bingley looked worried. “The apothecary was here yesterday, and we sent for him again only moments ago. I do hope that your injuries look worse than they are.”
Jane thought back to when she was thrown backwards into the stone wall.
She was certain she did carry a number of appalling bruises from the experience, and she was feeling them now.
“Could you explain how and where I was found? I fear that I have never heard of a place called Meryton, and I have no notion of how I came to be here.”
“I was walking home with my sisters from Lucas Lodge, which is a neighbouring estate,” explained Miss Bennet.
“We returned by way of Oakham Mount, a modest hilltop near our home. We found you there, at the top of the cliff, like I said a moment ago. There was nothing and no one nearby. My sister Kitty ran for Mr Bingley, while my youngest sister Lydia and I watched over you. My father even sent for the gamekeeper, who is very skilled at following tracks and trails of all kinds, and he found nothing. Riders were sent to make inquiries on every road within and leaving the village for many miles. They found no evidence of a carriage, a misplaced servant, or even a scarf by the road, to explain your appearance.”
“How long was I unconscious?” Jane inquired.
“We found you before tea time yesterday, and it is now just after ten o'clock in the morning. Nineteen hours, perhaps more, since we do not know how long you were there?” Miss Bennet counted the hours on her fingers.
“Were you travelling, perhaps? Could you have been the victim of a robbery, or kidnapping?”
“I cannot remember,” said Jane, reaching up to touch her temple in sincere discomfort.
“Miss Jane, you must be famished, but let us wait for the apothecary to learn what you should eat. May I pour you a cup of tea?” asked Mrs Bingley.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs Bingley.” Jane smiled, then winced again. It was not a lie that her head and body ached terribly.
Half an hour later, Jane had drunk a cup of very fine tea, and was now being examined by the apothecary, Mr Jones, while Mrs Bingley and Miss Bennet conversed quietly near the window.
“Now, I understand that we might be addressing Miss Jane. I am Mr Jones, the apothecary in Meryton.” A bespectacled man of about sixty with a balding pate smiled at her. “Now, can you tell me the last thing you remember before Miss Bennet found you?”
“I was walking,” Jane wondered what she ought to remember or not to remember. She might often be impertinent, but she was not in the habit of telling falsehoods.
“That is good. Do you have a location in mind? The name of a village perhaps?” he encouraged.
“I fear not. I remember that I was walking near some fields. I think a runaway horse ran me down.” Jane shook her head in helplessness, attempting to be as truthful as possible.
“There were no hoof prints on or near the mount, Mr Bedford searched thoroughly,” Miss Bennet interrupted in bewilderment.
“That is not surprising, Miss Lizzy,” assured the apothecary. “She might be recalling a different memory entirely. Just because she sees this in her mind does not mean it happened yesterday. See this gash on the back of her head?”
When Miss Bennet and Mrs Bingley had duly inspected the large wound on Jane’s head for themselves, the apothecary continued.
“This lump was created by a terrible blow to the head, whether by fall or assault, we do not know. She is lucky to be alive. When a person has a head injury such as this, they may lose their memory. It might return in bits and pieces, or all at once – or never. All we can do is wait.”
The apothecary was quiet for a moment as he examined more of the injuries that he had seen the day before, then spoke again. “I am going to ask you a series of questions, Miss Jane, to determine how well your mind is engaging with reality. First, do you know what day it is?”
“I believe today is Thursday, the seventeenth of December, in the year 1812.” Jane looked to Elizabeth for confirmation. “Miss Bennet said she found me yesterday.”
“Not quite,” answered the apothecary. “Today is Wednesday, the second of December, in the year 1812.”
“But yesterday was my birthday,” Jane said, unthinking.
“So your birthday is December sixteenth? Do you remember the year you were born?” he asked. “Now would not be the time for feminine vanity.”
Jane was quiet for a moment, “I fear not.”
“That is only to be expected.” He straightened and addressed Mrs Bingley.
“It is very likely that she will regain her memory. It will be muddled, and unimportant bits and pieces that make no sense may visit her first. It could take weeks, or even months. She should stay in bed until she is able to move about without pain, but there seems to be no need to fuss about her diet. She is not ill, and she has no serious injuries, save the one on her head. Feed her something light today, her digestion might be delicate. Coddled eggs and toast would be acceptable. Tomorrow, she may have anything that suits her. I shall visit again tomorrow afternoon, unless you have cause to send for me sooner.”
He turned back to Jane. “You will likely be sore for some days. Many of your wounds were treated with compresses of cold water from the wells through the night. It should help with the swelling, but warm baths and arnica will help with the aches and pains. Mrs Bingley keeps a well stocked stillroom. You may continue to have pains in your head. I will leave some powders with Mrs Bingley’s housekeeper. ”
“Thank you, Mr Jones.” Jane was beginning to feel fatigued. Even if she did not have amnesia, she had been run down by a horse and she was injured. Her head pained her terribly, and the aches and pains the man spoke of were oppressively present.