Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Elizabeth’s feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined, and they produced a contrariety of emotions.
Confusion and disbelief overwhelmed her.
She read through it once, not fully understanding, and then collected herself and began a second perusal.
With amazement did she first understand the depth of what Darcy kept from her.
His noble lineage. His splendid fortune.
His ancestral estate. Despite the unsteady start to their relationship, she had thought that respect and confidence now subsisted between them.
She was too agitated to remain seated in the garden, and she stomped down the lane to consider how differently everything now appeared in which Darcy was concerned.
Darcy has behaved very ill by me!
Darcy was a man with the education and manners of a gentleman because he was a gentleman.
Those letters, bills, and accounts she had seen were not those of the steward to his master.
Darcy was the master, and one who was committed to an estate that he had not seen since last autumn.
No wonder Darcy looked so surprised when she confessed she knew his secret about being a steward.
He was not surprised that she had guessed he had employment, but rather was amazed at her for not assuming that he was the master.
He showed charity because he was in the habit of being generous to his tenants and servants, just as his father had been.
His decisive manner even in trying circumstances, as she had seen with the gentlemen who overturned their carriage or with the Collinses at Georgiana’s funeral, was seen in a different light.
If he was from such a wealthy, well-connected family, then he naturally would have been raised to think well of himself and to act with authority.
I misjudged every hint, every sign, every indication. But he did nothing to correct me.
Elizabeth’s nerves were still agitated by the shock of his deception when she arrived in Meryton.
And oh, what of Georgiana’s seducer! Georgiana’s fortune must have been significant for her to be prey to a man like Wickham.
How blind I have been. Darcy’s true income must be remarkable for him to afford to buy all of Wickham’s debts and hire bailiffs to hunt him.
She briskly turned down the street to the apothecary shop, not so much as nodding to anyone she strode past. There had not been an explicit lie, but rather many truths that he withheld from her. She had judged his circumstances wrongly, but had she judged wrongly the character of the man?
Does it matter what I think of him since he does not love me in return and I will be dead in a month?
“Good morning, Mrs Darcy. You look as though you have come here with great purpose.” Elizabeth started as she realised Mr Jones was smiling at her. “I hope that your arm is not troubling you after the other day?”
She hardly knew how she had stormed into the apothecary shop, and she did her best to gather her composure. “I promise I have not given my arm a single thought. I hope you left your son in Bath well?”
“Yes, thank you. I will return to him in ten days, but his recovery is all but assured. If you have not come about your arm, how may I help you?”
Elizabeth took proper notice of the customers at the counter with Mr Lynn and the shopboy sweeping nearby. She looked pointedly to the curtain that led to the consultation room; Mr Jones bowed and gestured for her to lead the way.
She struggled with how to compose her spirits to ask about her heart, and Mr Jones made a presumption to fill the silence. “I have not congratulated you on your marriage. I wish you joy. Perhaps you are here to determine for certain if you will have another reason for joy next spring?”
She stared for a long moment until she understood what he was implying.
“Oh!” It was a blow, to be certain. She would not live long enough to have a child, and her husband refused to share her bed.
“It is impossible! I am soon to die. It is cruel, Mr Jones, cruel of you to be so forgetful!” She tried to stop her tears at his expression of absolute incredulity.
“Mrs Darcy, I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. What has led you to believe that you are fatally ill?”
She opened her reticule to retrieve the letter and a handkerchief for her eyes. “You wrote that for the sake of my heart any excitement or exertion ought to be avoided, but there is no remedy because my case was so advanced. Do you now recall that you expect me to be dead by Michaelmas?”
Mr Jones took the letter and read with narrowed eyes, slowly shaking his head. “Mrs Darcy, how did you get this? I did not write this to you.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. “It was neither wise nor proper, I know. I was awaiting news from you about my heart. If you recall, your examination was cut short by the sad news of your son’s ill health, and you said you would write to Mr Lynn regarding my diagnosis.
I saw the letter on the counter during a busy day in the shop and—”
Mr Jones gave a loud exclamation. “Yes, but, this”—he waved the letter—“is not in regard to you.”
“Surely you remember the situation now? Before you were called away, we discussed my father’s death and my heart pain and—”
“You must understand, this is not about you!” Mr Jones was pale and visibly distressed. “You have, for over three months, supposed that you were soon to die from a heart paroxysm? Oh, my God.”
“There is something wrong with my heart. It is just as my father suffered—”
“No, no, it is not! Angina pectoris causes a dull chest pain, and it radiates beyond the heart to the jaw or arm. The pain is brought on by physical or emotional exertion, and there is a sensation of the heart being squeezed and with a rapid heartbeat.”
“Yes, that is very much like what I feel.”
The apothecary shook his head. “Like, but not the same. You said that you suffered chest tightness, but with palpitations and often a tight throat with numbness in your hands and feet, as well as exhaustion once the episode passed. Your heart pain was localised, and it happened whether you were at rest or exerting yourself. You could not have suffered as many paroxysms as you did without being carried off if you had angina pectoris like your father.”
How could Mr Jones be so confused? She shook her head and began again. “No, no, you wrote that my heart—”
“Mrs Darcy, this was in regard to the late Mrs Baker, not you!”
Her mouth hung open. Mrs Baker, who died the first week in June and who was only mourned by her daughter, Mrs Beverly.
Mrs Baker had been a large woman with a weak constitution who berated everyone, who drank too much and chased her husband at Longbourn’s ball, who was always red-faced and complaining.
While Elizabeth tried to settle this point, Mr Jones rifled through papers at his desk.
“Lynn said that I had not written about Mrs Baker, so I wrote to him again. I never imagined the final page went missing because it was stolen by the wrong patient. Mrs Baker refused to heed my advice—not that it would have made a difference in so advanced a case. Here, Mrs Darcy, this is what I wrote to Lynn regarding you.”
She took the proffered letter with shaking hands.
Regarding Miss Bennet, she fears an ailment similar to what carried off her father two years ago.
It is more likely her painful episodes are brought on by a disturbance of mind rather than angina pectoris.
She is in reduced circumstances, and this correlates with the onset of symptoms. The passions of the mind must be accorded an important place in this young lady’s case.
Elizabeth rose, crushing the letter in her fist. “My disorder is not caused by my spirits!”
“In many cases, strong passions can affect the heart.”
“I did not imagine this. The pain and every other attending symptom were real!”
“I do not doubt that, madam, truly, I do not.” He gestured for her to sit, and she complied with a cold glare.
“I went on to tell Lynn to prescribe argentum nitratum only if you grew progressively nervous. You did not appear nervously irritable to me, and you are not one to take physic unless it was absolutely necessary. However, you never returned for further cures, and Lynn never observed distress in your behaviour or health, even during the death of your sister-in-law. I thought perhaps that your change in circumstances led to an improvement of your health.”
“You mean that . . . that I was so out of spirits that it brought on these attacks of breathlessness and heart pain?” Mr Jones could not mean it. “But, but was it real?”
“Yes. There is a clear relation between the body and the mind, although we do not fully comprehend it. I would not be surprised if there was a common event that caused most of your heart paroxysms. You would be able to answer to that better than I, but I am certain that you do not have angina pectoris.”
“My heart pains are brought on by an agitation of spirits?” He bowed patiently. “Good God, what does that mean?”
“Distress can worsen any heart condition, but in your case, I see no reason to assume that there is anything at fault with the workings of your heart. I suggest you consider what events might be in common with your pain, and if those events and anxieties are avoided, I suspect the episodes will stop.”
Elizabeth, greatly shocked, still felt unable to believe it. “I am not expected to die by the end of the summer?”
“Mrs Darcy, you have no fatal disease. Angina pectoris seldom commences before an advanced period of life, and quite frankly, if it was angina pectoris, you would have been dead by now. I am tempted to add a word about reading the correspondence of others, but I can see you have been in agony because of it. I am sorry for the distress you have suffered.”
I am not about to die?