Chapter 4
SOME VERY STRONG OBJECTIONS AGAINST THE LADY
Darcy was taken aback by the sight of the peculiar woman he had already spent far too much time thinking about.
She was not the prettily dressed, handsome female of the assembly; rather, she was covered in road dust, the hems of her plain, serviceable frock damp and muddy—there was even a splatter of mud upon her cheek.
What astonished him most was the urge to take his own clean handkerchief and wipe it away.
Her hair was escaping its confinement, her cheeks were pink with exertion, and he felt an undeniable attraction, a wanting deeper than any he had ever before experienced.
It was stupid. The last thing he needed in his life was a distraction from the things that mattered: getting Bingley settled and determining whether he ought to make an offer on Netherfield or keep searching for an estate that better suited.
Darcy had firmly decided to ignore his niggling curiosity over an oddly behaved widow who lived in poverty.
Besides which, she was also a known eccentric.
Heaven only knew he had enough of those in his life already.
“Mr Darcy,” she said, curtseying, addressing him as though they had been officially introduced.
Close enough, he decided.
Stoke must be at least five or six miles away.
There was a breach between herself and Mrs Collins.
Everyone knew it—he had heard a great deal of conjecture from Sir William.
Yet, her sister was ill, and here she was, her hems as muddy as though she had walked here.
For some reason, he found he must know. After making the introductions to Mrs Hurst, he asked.
“I did not hear the approach of a carriage,” he said. “I do hope you did not walk from…Stoke, is it?”
“I had a ride for a good part of the way. I have learnt my sister is ill. May I see her?” She asked the question bluntly, her tone almost strident. From the amount of dust she bore upon her person, if she had ridden, it was not in any fine carriage.
“We shall ask her if she is up to receive—” Mrs Hurst began, but Darcy interrupted.
“Of course you may,” he said, overruling any hesitation in a voice of command. “Mrs Hurst, you will take her up?” His tone brooked no argument. Mrs Ashwood had come by farm cart and foot. She must be allowed to see Mrs Collins at least.
“Thank you,” she said softly, and to his surprise, her eyes filled with sudden tears. She did not allow them to fall, hiding them with a curtsey. By the time she stood again a second or two later, she had blinked them away.
She was not sure she would be permitted. She had come all this way without even being sure she would be allowed to see her sister—or perhaps whether Mrs Collins would allow it. Whatever the rumours or public opinion, he believed she had a right to try.
Mrs Hurst silently led Elizabeth up the stairs and into a fine, grand chamber at the end of the corridor. There, upon a massive four-poster, Jane looked small and pale against the bedclothing. A neat servant sat on a chair at the bedside. Jane appeared to be sleeping.
“Molly, Mrs Collins’s sister has come to sit with her for a time. You may return in an hour.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Or shall I have her bring a pitcher up, so that you may refresh yourself?”
Her meaning was clear—Elizabeth knew she must look a filthy fright, splattered in road dirt. Nevertheless, her relief at seeing Jane was substantial.
“Thank you. I would appreciate it,” she murmured in reply, meaning it.
She took the seat the maid had vacated; Jane had not moved, but Elizabeth comforted herself with watching her breathe.
A few minutes later, the maid brought a pitcher of water, linen cloths, towelling, and a clothing brush.
“I could help ye with the brushing,” Molly offered, leading her into a small attached sitting room; Elizabeth gratefully accepted.
When she was returned to Jane once again, she felt at least a little less begrimed.
Quite some time passed before Jane stirred.
Elizabeth stood, moving closer, and dared to lay her hand upon Jane’s flushed cheek.
It was warm, but not the burning fire of that horrific illness at Longbourn.
Jane opened her eyes, looking blearily at her sister, and Elizabeth held her breath, completely unsure as to her reception.
“Lizzy,” Jane said weakly. “My head hurts so. Kitty complained of her head hurting, do you remember?”
“Kitty was not healthy when the fever struck, dear. She was never very strong. But you are. All will be well.”
A tear leaked from Jane’s eye, slipping down her cheek. “It hurts.”
Elizabeth wet one of the unused linens in the pitcher, squeezing it out in the provided bowl. She gently laid the cool cloth across Jane’s forehead.
“Oh, that feels nice,” Jane murmured. “Oh, Lizzy, I am so glad you are here.”
For the second time that day, unexpected sentiment tried to overwhelm her, tears trying to escape. She would not allow it. “Try to rest, dear. I am right beside you. I will stay as long as I am able.”
When Molly returned at the end of the hour, Elizabeth asked for fresh water in the pitcher and barley water for Jane and then dared to direct her to her other duties.
She knew that she would not be leaving until good manners or the Bingleys demanded she excuse herself.
I can find my way to Longbourn in the dark, I am certain.
Her sister was restless and uncomfortable, and although she took frequent sips of the proffered water, she did not keep it all down. Still, she was sensible and could speak of her needs—something Kitty had been too delirious, for the most part, to manage in her final days.
Jane is not dying, she reassured herself.
Around three o’clock, Mrs Hurst reappeared.
She spoke very kindly to Jane, enquiring as to her condition, and expressing appropriate dismay at the severity of her symptoms. Her tact was appreciable, as the woman determined for herself that Jane did not resent Elizabeth’s attentions.
Once she was reassured on this point, her manner eased, and she spoke with considerably more friendliness.
“My younger sister also suffers from the headache today, although thankfully without any nausea. I believe it is a result of this endless rain. This is surely the wettest place in England.”
“We have had more than our fair share of late,” Elizabeth agreed. “Although usually, our weather is the mildest. At least I was not rained upon during my journey here.”
Mrs Hurst looked down at Jane with some sympathy. “I am sure your sister appreciates the sacrifice you made to attend her.”
It sounded like a hint that a farewell would be appreciated, and Elizabeth sighed.
It appeared that Jane was in good hands here, it was growing late, and she had no excuse to remain.
Still, it was with great reluctance that she spoke.
“I suppose I had better be on my way. I thank you for allowing me the imposition.”
“Of course, Mrs Ashwood, we can provide a chaise to take you anywhere you wish, whether it be to Longbourn or Stoke. It is no trouble.”
Jane suddenly opened her eyes. “Oh, Lizzy, must you go?”
It broke Elizabeth’s heart to think of it. “I am afraid I—”
“There is no need, if you wish to remain,” Mrs Hurst offered, before Elizabeth could complete her sentence. “There is a chamber adjoining the sitting room of this one. I am certain we could make you quite comfortable.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth said, surprised. “I did not expect it—but would be so grateful to stay with my sister. You are very kind.”
Mrs Hurst smiled, remaining at least half an hour in quiet but civil conversation before leaving them alone once more.
“I like your new friend, Jane,” Elizabeth said quietly.
Jane smiled weakly, but did not open her eyes.
I judged Mrs Hurst unfairly, simply because she obviously found our small country assembly dull. She must be accustomed to much grander entertainments, and ought to have been granted a bit more grace from the opinions of strangers. What did I name her? Mrs Jaded? Elizabeth shook her head, ashamed.
At half past six, Molly returned to sit with Jane, along with another servant to lead Elizabeth to the dining room. She did not want to be parted from her sister, even for the length of a meal, but after the kindnesses shown, she could hardly demand a tray.
Mrs Hurst introduced her to her younger sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, and Mr Bingley greeted her with all the fervour of a long-lost relation. It was a bit disconcerting.
“Mrs Ashwood, how glad I am that you have come, and have agreed to stay in my home to attend your dear sister! What a kindness you have performed for Mrs Collins! I am not certain my own sisters would have journeyed six miles in the mud and rain to reach me, should I be in similar straits!”
“It would not be necessary, Charles,” his younger sister rejoined.
“With such a wise friend and companion as you have in Mr Darcy, we would always have complete confidence in your care.” She smiled over at the sombre Mr Darcy, as if to ensure he had noticed her compliment, before turning back to Elizabeth.
“Mrs Ashwood, we have heard much about you. Is it true that you live alone, without even a companion to lend you countenance, rather than accept the hospitality of the sister to whom you have demonstrated such devotion this day?”