Chapter 14 Mistake
Rosings Park, Kent
Lady Catherine
Lady Catherine paced the corridor, her heart weighed down with worry. She had never seen her daughter in such a state.
Anne had always struggled with breathing issues, a delicate ailment that made Lady Catherine take great care to shield her from any unnecessary strain.
Mrs. Jenkinson, under strict instructions, never left Anne's side, doing her best to protect her charge from any potential exertion.
Despite these careful preparations, Anne often suffered from poor health.
But what Lady Catherine witnessed from her daughter on this day surpassed any previous episode.
Anne's struggle to catch her breath was evident, her panting resembling that of a restless horse.
It was an unwritten rule that Anne did not allow Lady Catherine to enter her chamber when she was being examined by her physician—a rare concession Anne insisted upon, to which Lady Catherine reluctantly agreed.
Nonetheless, this time, Lady Catherine longed to be present, to hear the physician's assessment firsthand.
Her wait was not prolonged. Mr. Hawthorne, the physician, emerged from Anne's chamber, standing before her with a countenance that conveyed much. Lady Catherine braced herself for the distressing news that was about to be delivered.
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Elizabeth sat in the corner of the parlour like a caged cat. Why are they taking this long?
How she longed to discover the details of the young man who had come to marry Lydia?
Presently, the gentleman in question remained in her father's study.
Across the room, Jane occupied a secluded corner with Mr. Bingley, their betrothal having been officially sanctioned the previous evening when Mr. Bingley sought her father's blessing.
Mama had already spirited Lydia away to her chamber, followed closely by Mary, Kitty, and their aunt.
Elizabeth surmised that Lydia might be recounting the tale of how she had fallen in love with a gentleman in regulars even after living amongst a gathering of red-coated officers in the Militia.
She fervently prayed that Lydia's imagination had conjured a narrative that skillfully concealed the true extent of her trials and tribulations.
Elizabeth couldn't help but notice the transformation in Lydia.
She no longer appeared as the naive and impetuous young girl she once was.
Even when Mama reprimanded her for not writing any letters over the past month, Lydia maintained a calm composure.
It was clear that the trials and tribulations she had faced in the previous weeks had brought about a remarkable change in her.
As she sat there, eagerly anticipating answers to her questions, the door to the study swung open, and her uncle entered. Elizabeth immediately rose from her seat, noticing Jane and Mr. Bingley doing the same.
“Lizzy, Jane, Mr. Bingley, I know you all have questions. Shall we take a stroll outside?,” her uncle promptly proposed.
In a matter of moments, they found themselves strolling in the garden. Elizabeth clung to her uncle's arm, Jane held onto her betrothed, and as soon as they were far from the house, her uncle began to speak.
“I know you anticipate a lengthy account of Lydia's rescue. However, there is little to narrate. As you already know, Wickham had sold her to a disreputable place. She managed to escape after three days there. Since then, she has been wandering the streets, surviving on meagre leftovers and water. Colonel Forster discovered her asleep in a hayloft on the very evening he intended to cease his search. I can scarcely comprehend this. How fortunate is that?” Uncle shook his head and gazed up when saying this.
“Who is this Mr. Weston, uncle?” Elizabeth inquired.
“That is yet another matter that astonishes me.
How fortunate we are to have discovered a young man willing to wed Lydia?
I conversed with this young gentleman at length, Lizzy, and I am greatly impressed.
He's well-educated, polite, kind, and excellent at socialising.
You know I'm always on the lookout for promising young men to join my business.
If Mr. Weston hadn't already inherited an estate, I would have offered employment to him on the spot,” her uncle replied.
"Inherited an estate? Is he a gentleman?" Elizabeth couldn't hide her amazement. Why would he want to marry Lydia?
“Indeed, Lizzy, he is. He is the second son, with his elder brother inheriting the estate in Leicestershire.
That's why he joined the regulars. However, his brother was profligate and mismanaged the estate until it fell into ruin, before conveniently meeting his end by falling from a horse. So, this young man has recently inherited a dilapidated estate burdened with debts. By marrying Lydia, he aspires to at least settle those debts. He has given us his word that he will take care of Lydia, and I have no reason to doubt his sincerity.”
“How much money is he asking for, Uncle? Will papa be able to pay it?” Elizabeth knew that question was not something she should ask. But he was too curious to keep it to herself.
"That's the most surprising part. He's only asking for two thousand pounds, enough to clear his debts and invest in the next harvest. He believes he can support himself with the estate's income afterward.
I expected him to request a larger sum. Lizzy, Jane, you needn't worry about the finances.
Your father and I will handle everything.
By the way, Mr. Weston intends to stay in this vicinity to court Lydia. That was our sole request to him. We wish to avoid any rumours of a hasty wedding for Lydia. In fact, Lydia's marriage will take place after Jane's. We prefer the youngest daughter not to wed before the eldest one.”
Elizabeth was fine by that. Both Jane and Mr. Bingley also nodded their approval.
Rosings Park, Kent
Lady Catherine
"You are saying she has a heart problem that cannot be cured?" Lady Catherine sat in a state of anguish, her hands tightly clasped together, determined to suppress any tears threatening to spill forth.
Mr. Hawthorne, the physician, could only solemnly nod in response to her question.
"How much time does she have, Mr. Hawthorne? How long will I be able to see my daughter?" she inquired.
"I regret to inform you, Lady Catherine, that there is little else that can be done. Today, I found her heart to be so weakened that I would be surprised if she were to live beyond a week," Mr. Hawthorne replied.
Dear God! What can I do now?
"It appears to me, Mr. Hawthorne, that you were aware of her delicate condition beforehand. Why am I only learning this now?" Lady Catherine's voice trembled, tinged with a mix of frustration and sorrow.
"I did not have certain knowledge, but I harboured suspicions.
I had already conveyed my concerns to your daughter nearly two years ago.
I had assumed she would have discussed it with you.
Throughout my visits to attend to her, it was always your daughter who sought updates on my diagnosis.
You never inquired about her condition, which always struck me as peculiar.
Nevertheless, it would not have altered the outcome.
Even if I had been unequivocally certain two years ago, there exists no known remedy for her ailment.
We would find ourselves in this predicament regardless," he replied.
Lady Catherine sprung up from her seat, her mind swirling with a multitude of questions. Why, in the name of God, did Anne withhold this crucial information from me? Why did she insist on keeping me away from conversations with Mr. Hawthorne? Why had she deceived her own mother for all these years?
“How is she now? Can I talk to her now?” she inquired.
“Yes, you can. In fact, she is waiting for you. Lady Catherine, your daughter has, at most, a week left to live. Allow her to spend this time on her own terms.”
With these words, Mr. Hawthorne turned and walked away.
Before entering her daughter's chamber, Lady Catherine dispatched an express to her nephews, informing them of Anne's condition.
For the first time in five and twenty years, she felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, unsure of how to counteract such a feeling.
Slowly opening the door, she laid her eyes upon her daughter, who patiently awaited her arrival on the bed. It was evident that Anne was still struggling, although the remedies provided by Mr. Hawthorne seems to have brought some measure of relief for the time being.
The moment she settled into the chair near the bed, her daughter began to speak.
"Mother, did Mr. Hawthorne discuss my condition with you? What did he say?"
Lady Catherine initially contemplated telling a falsehood. However, a nagging feeling within her suggested that Anne may possess a deeper understanding than she herself possessed.
"He informed me that you possess a delicate heart and that your days are limited," Lady Catherine honestly replied.
"Limited? Did he specify a precise number of days I have left to live?" Anne inquired.
"He gave you no more than a week to live," Lady Catherine uttered, her voice tinged with sorrow.
"A week? Mother, I would be surprised if I woke up tomorrow. I cannot fathom lasting a full week. You can be certain of that," Anne replied in haste.
"Anne, do not speak in such a manner. It pains me deeply. I am your mother," Lady Catherine pleaded, striving to suppress the anguish that seeped into her voice.