Chapter 18
BYGONES
Elizabeth returned upstairs to Jane after what might be the most momentous hour of her life. As she sat beside her sister’s bedside, she realised something: the pain was gone.
The recollection of Jane’s rejection was there, of course; there was no way to un-hear it.
But the constant little injury its memory made in her heart seemed scarred over, sealed off…
healed, its power to wound her, diminished into nothingness.
Jane did not love Elizabeth the way Elizabeth loved Jane—but then, she never had.
Her love had never before been tested, not until their father had demanded a choice.
Neither man had been a very desirable selection as husband, that was true—but one of them had meant retaining Longbourn, safety, familiarity, and family. Jane had chosen… chosen herself.
It does not mean that Jane is an ‘evil villain’…
only that my capacity for love is greater, in some fashion, than hers.
And despite her Fanny-inspired fears, Jane had made herself say all the right things and welcome her sister home after Mr Ashwood’s death.
She had never meant for Elizabeth to overhear them.
Had we drawn straws to choose husbands in the beginning, I may have drawn Mr Collins, and even now be married to him.
Mr Darcy would have visited, and I would never have allowed myself to even look at him, much less be held within his arms and share kisses both sweet and passionate.
She would never have known love, not really, for how could she love someone whose sensibilities she could not respect?
I may never yet know it—but the hope is there now, after all this time.
Mrs Hurst chose that moment to look in on their patient; seeing Jane’s slumbering countenance, she only spoke a few quiet words to Elizabeth and then took her leave.
As usual, Miss Bingley was nowhere to be seen—but that did not trouble Elizabeth in the least. Truthfully, what she wanted most was quiet—quiet and peace in which to recall every moment with Mr Darcy, and, possibly, to begin to contemplate a different future than the one she had planned for so long.
It was both a heady notion and a terrifying one.
Gradually, however, she realised something else, as she sat pondering at the bedside: Jane was only feigning sleep. Her breaths were too even, her eyes hidden beneath an outstretched arm. Suddenly, it all seemed rather silly.
“Jane, you need not pretend. If you do not wish to talk to me, you do not have to. If you wish to be alone, I shall go. If you desire my absence entirely, I will go home. I came here to help you if I could, not be a burden to you.”
For a few moments, her sister did not move and Elizabeth thought she might maintain the pretence. But then she swiped her arm away, her pretty face appearing chagrined, and she sighed. “Of course I do not wish you to leave.”
“But you would rather be alone now?”
“You must have things you wish to say to me,” Jane hedged. “As kind as it was for you to come, I know you have been disgusted with me for a long while. I have been disgusted with myself.”
Disgusted? Was Jane waiting for some sort of dressing down? What good would it do? Was that why she had avoided all discussion? But the matter plainly needed to be addressed; Jane’s guilt was like another person in the room.
“Jane, a year ago, I overheard what you never meant me to know. Yes, a part of me wishes I did not know your feelings regarding—”
“I did not mean it! I am sure you have no interest in taking charge of Longbourn. I cannot think why I ever thought you might.”
“You thought it because Fanny suggested to you that I would,” Elizabeth said, gently but inexorably.
“Oh, she did not intend it that way. Fanny meant only that, in your competence as the former mistress of a great property—”
“No,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Tell me that you are at least aware of how Fanny despises me. You must know that much.”
“I am certain she does not. It is ridiculous! Why, only yesterday she was complimenting you! You heard her!”
Elizabeth sighed. “It will not do, dear. Either I am an intractable idiot who would prefer to live in one room rather than sensibly reside in the splendid home I inhabited for nearly half a decade, or she does all in her power to ruin my reputation and make my life a misery whenever she is near. If I ask John Coachman to bring me to Meryton, he must first ask her permission. Does she ever grant it? No. It suddenly becomes necessary for her to use the carriage, or for the gig to be repaired, or for Mr John Ashwood to have the curricle held at home at the ready for some errand he might require. She does not rule me, but she certainly rules her household with an iron will. All the servants are afraid of her, with the possible exception of Mrs Heartly. But then, she is the best housekeeper in the entire county. Fanny is malicious, but she is not stupid—she would not want to lose her.”
“Oh, but Lizzy…this is impossible! She could not be so cruel. You must be mistaken.”
Elizabeth shook her head, impatient. “How many times has Fanny visited Longbourn, and told you that she begged me to accompany her? How many times has she reported to you her efforts to convince me to ‘let bygones be bygones’ between us?”
“Every time,” Jane averred. “She is always trying to bring about a reconciliation.”
“I thought as much. But no. If you believe nothing else I ever say, believe this: she has never once spoken to me about the situation between us. She has never invited me to accompany her to Longbourn. I have never refused to come. I have never said any of the things she has probably told you I said, because I have never discussed our differences with her. Never once.”
Tears filled Jane’s eyes. “Oh, but…but…”
“You cannot make both of us innocent. Either I am lying to you now, or she has lied to you all along. It is up to you whom you wish to believe. But I will tell you this, and you may accept it or not: I hold no ill will towards you. I was hurt in the moment. It was a bad time, directly after Mr Ashwood died. I was not as patient as I might have been, had I been less distraught. For a long while now, I have been very sorry that we were estranged when you lost your babe. I did not hear about your loss for some time, but I should have at least written when I did. My only excuse is my worry that hearing from me would only increase your pain, rather than relieve it.”
A tear tracked down Jane’s cheek, and her voice emerged in a whisper. “Fanny knew. She did not tell you?”
“No. Charlotte wrote, and it was she who told me of it, assuming that I had already known. Several weeks had passed by that time, I understood.”
Jane nodded, tears still leaking from her eyes. Elizabeth felt…peaceful; it did not matter to her what happened next—it was all out in the open now. She had apologised for her part, and bitterness was replaced with serenity.
“I wish I had not said any of it,” Jane cried. “I hope you know how sorry I am. I have long felt that losing my baby boy was a judgment.” She broke into sobs.
Elizabeth placed her hand over her sister’s. “I do not believe that, not for a moment,” she protested. “You must not either.”
“Have you ever—ever lost a child?” Jane sobbed.
“No. But I know many good, deserving women who have. It is not a punishment. It is life, and sometimes terrible things just…happen.”
It took several minutes before Jane could be restored to any semblance of composure, but by virtue of much soothing consolation, finally calm prevailed.
It has always been thus, Elizabeth realised. Her elder sister was a tender-hearted soul, who required a great deal of bolstering. Her tears dried to sniffles, and Elizabeth almost asked whether Jane believed she was increasing again, but Molly’s knock interrupted them.
“Excuse me, ma’am, Mrs Collins. But Mrs Bennet is here to see you. May she come up?”