Chapter 18
“Go, pray, Miss Elizabeth, and rest,” urged Mrs Robertson just before dinner, with a mother’s authority and a look that admitted no refusal. “I am certain you have taken a chill. We already have three girls unwell.”
Elizabeth wished to protest, but Mrs Robertson did not allow her, and Mary, who had joined them, insisted likewise.
“Do listen for once,” she begged. “We shall send you a tisane and the tonic the doctor prescribes for the pupils. After a light supper and a sound sleep, you will feel yourself again.”
Elizabeth regarded her closely, wondering whether she suspected anything.
Yet Mary’s countenance expressed only anxiety for her paleness and nothing more, for she possessed no talent for concealing her thoughts.
Indeed, who could have imagined that a woman might refuse the proposal of the very man she loved?
All around her, they believed that she detested him—as she herself had thought until the night before.
She consented; yet while ascending to her chamber, guilt pressed upon her that she was not ill with a cold, for her malady bore another name, and no tisane could cure it. Still, she appreciated Mrs Robertson’s care, and above all, the chance of a quiet evening.
The young ladies dined early, at five o’clock, then read for an hour, taking turns at the pianoforte and the violin.
There was also a harp, though none yet knew how to play it—a circumstance Elizabeth wished to amend.
She resolved to find a young lady who might delight in learning to play that graceful instrument.
For a fleeting moment, the thought of the Academy mingled with her sorrow, rendering it more tolerable.
She sighed as she looked about her, grateful for the occupation that might enable her to forget… at least at intervals.
She lay upon her bed, eyes closed, awaiting supper, and fell asleep.
She dreamt of Mr Darcy as she had seen him at Rosings, looking at her with what she now knew to be love, and she smiled at him likewise.
In the dream, everything was natural; he knew she loved him, and he took her in his arms as if he had done so many times before, while their happiness soared to heights she had never imagined.
Someone touched her shoulder gently, and from that rapture she fell sharply and painfully into the reality that was without him.
Mrs Robertson helped her change and compelled her to swallow the bitter potion sent by the doctor, persuaded that she was ill.
But after the housekeeper’s departure, she could not sleep again.
She feared to dream of him once more, and to wake without him.
The pain was too great…unimaginably great; only then did she comprehend Jane, and all her suffering which had once seemed excessive.
She tried to read, but could not; she paced between parlour and bedchamber, admiring the elegance of her apartment and endeavouring to take pleasure in it as she had done each day since her arrival…but in vain.
Jane, however, had enjoyed one advantage: she had shared her pain with all about her, and though neither words nor gestures had comforted her loss, at least she had not borne that burden alone in her heart.
She slept at last, long after midnight, and woke believing herself at Longbourn, for Jane had nestled beside her as she used to do at home in their shared chamber.
Elizabeth looked at her in astonishment, thinking at first that she was dreaming, but Jane smiled and spoke. Though at first she understood little, once fully awake, she said with decision, “Jane Bennet, I entreat you, be calm and tell me from the beginning what has happened.”
Nothing bad had occurred, for Jane’s countenance, bright in the sunlight that streamed through the window, was radiant with joy.
It was only then that Elizabeth realised the sun stood high in the sky and she was still in bed.
She searched feverishly for her watch and saw with dismay that it was nine o’clock, when by seven she was usually downstairs and ready for her duties.
She was about to leap from bed when Jane stopped her.
“Stay. Mrs Robertson has ordered that no one disturb you.”
“I have a thousand things to do.”
“Not within the next hour,” interposed Mary, entering the room; and from the sparkle in her eyes, it was plain she already knew the news.
“Lizzy—Mary! I am engaged!” cried Jane at last, unable to contain her happiness, which filled the chamber and the hearts of her sisters.
Questions poured forth, but Jane was so excited that she could scarcely answer coherently.
“With whom?” asked Elizabeth at last, realising that, in her sister’s delirious joy, she had forgotten the essential point.
“With whom?” Jane repeated, startled by her sister’s apparent foolishness. “With Charles, obviously!”
And as Elizabeth still appeared bewildered, she added, “What a question! With Mr Bingley, of course—Charles Bingley.”
Only after tea and a few biscuits taken in Elizabeth’s parlour was Jane able to tell them all that had happened.
“Uncle Gardiner has done everything. To him I owe my happiness.”
As Jane paced the room in nervous delight, Elizabeth drew her to a seat and compelled her to speak.
“Tell us quickly, for we have not the whole day.”
Jane laughed and sighed, tears glimmering in her eyes, for her happiness was at times too great to be endured.
“Pray, speak,” urged Mary, amused and exasperated at once.
“When I came to town…I hardly remember, I was much confused then…but it seems I told my uncle that Charles—Mr Bingley—is a member of Boodle’s Club—”
“How did you know this?” Mary looked genuinely surprised.
“We conversed a great deal; we did not merely look at one another as you accused us,” laughed Jane, with the clear tone she had before that wretched end of November.
“And then?” prompted Elizabeth.
“My uncle had already resolved that winter to become a member of a club, and he thought that if Mr Bingley’s club—”
“Say, Charles, when we are only the three; do not distress yourself,” laughed Mary, and Elizabeth nodded, pleased by her sister’s confusion and delight.
“If you interrupt, I shall never finish,” protested Jane in mock vexation, and Elizabeth embraced her as a sign to continue.
“My uncle’s fortune is greater than Mr Bingley’s—”
“How do you know such things?” both exclaimed, for they had always thought Jane lived in a world where neither money nor property existed.
“In these past months I have stayed with them and learnt many things…including that. My uncle’s fortune is considerable, and he reasoned that if that club suited Charles, it might suit him as well. Yet he told me nothing, for at the time he had no intention of meeting Mr Bingley—”
“And meanwhile, he changed his mind?”
“Yes!” cried Jane, and had Mary not stopped her, she would surely have begun to dance about the room again.
“When you told him what had passed in Kent, he began to think that Mr Bingley had been influenced by his family—and by Mr Darcy himself—to forsake me. He went away, not because he ceased to love me, but because he is a man devoted to his family and friends, and placed their opinion before the love within his heart.”
“Uncle Gardiner understood that?” Mary turned towards Elizabeth, astonished, but Elizabeth remained silent.
“Well, Aunt Gardiner probably helped him,” Jane replied. However, neither sister perceived the shadow that crossed Elizabeth’s face at the mention of Mr Darcy’s name. She quickly shook off the sadness and smiled at her sister’s happiness.
“Then Uncle met Mr Bingley at the Club?” asked Elizabeth, imagining Mr Darcy might sometimes be there as well, surrounded by his friends and relations, for she was certain the Colonel was also a member.
“Yes, precisely so. He invited him to dinner…I know not what he said—”
“Perhaps that he knew Mr Bingley had rented a house near Meryton, and that he had met his family who resided at Longbourn,” supplied Mary, completing the tale as one accustomed to do so from her reading.
“Yes, very likely…It seems that at a club, gentlemen form connections quite easily.”
“And he invited him to dinner so simply?” Mary was still incredulous.
Jane hesitated. Her happiness had caused her to forget many details. Still, it no longer mattered, for the evening before Mr Bingley had come to dine.
“I knew nothing…Last night, as I was preparing to return to the Academy, they asked me to remain and dine with them. I could not comprehend the reason until the butler announced him, and there he stood before me. When we looked around, we found ourselves quite alone.”
“Oh, Mama’s education,” laughed Elizabeth.
“And he asked me to be his wife.”
“You forgave him immediately?” Mary’s tone betrayed all her former resentment on her sister’s behalf.
“Immediately,” confessed Jane without the least regret. “We are to be married in August, here in London.”
Elizabeth remained behind them, torn between joy and sorrow. It was evident she could say nothing to Jane, and Mary did not wish to know; for, of late, she had observed her sister conversing frequently with Miss Darcy.
She pondered a while what she ought to do, then wrote a short note to Mrs Gardiner, entreating her to call upon her.
At length, she felt that her aunt was the only person in the world who could comprehend her anguish and keep her secret.
For once, she—who had ever been regarded by those around her as strong and exceedingly independent—confessed that she needed someone to listen, to comfort, to strengthen her, to help her through those painful hours—to teach her, perhaps, how forgetfulness might settle in her heart in place of love.
“I am not certain that I know how to do this,” her aunt confessed with a sad smile after hearing her tale.
“I do not believe there exists any recipe for recovering from love. Yet you possess what few women have—a purpose in life other than to seek another man, as most would feel compelled to do. You have this excellent work, which you love. If you allow yourself to be absorbed daily by the duties of the Academy, I am convinced that pain and regret will diminish. I do not say that you will cease to love him…but that you will learn to live with the memories, and to take pleasure in this beautiful life around you..”