Chapter Nineteen #2
Jane nodded slowly, her mind clearly working through possibilities. Her fingers drummed against the grimoire’s leather binding in a rhythm Elizabeth recognised from childhood. Finally, her expression brightened.
“Uncle Gardiner,” Jane said, certainty entering her voice. “He deals with merchants who import goods from all over the world. Spices from the East Indies. Rare ingredients for apothecaries and physicians. If anyone in our acquaintance might have access to such exotic substances, it would be him.”
Elizabeth felt her heart leap with sudden hope. Of course. Mr. Gardiner’s business connexions extended throughout London’s merchant community and beyond. He dealt regularly with traders who brought goods from distant lands.
“He will help us,” Jane continued. “I know he will. We need only explain what is needed without revealing too much of why. I can tell him it is for a special tonic, perhaps. Uncle Gardiner will not pry if I ask him to simply obtain the ingredients.”
“But the cost,” Elizabeth protested. “Jane, these substances are impossibly expensive. Saffron is worth more than its weight in gold, and I think ambergris may be too, not to mention the bezoar shaving! We cannot ask Uncle Gardiner to spend such sums without explanation.”
Jane’s expression grew thoughtful. Then her face cleared with sudden determination.
“I have some money set aside,” she said quietly.
“The small inheritance from Grandmother Bennet that was divided among us all. I have been saving it for years. This is worthy, Lizzy. Getting you back into your own body, preventing Anne from trapping Mr. Darcy in a false marriage. I will use every penny if necessary.”
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears again. She reached out and gripped Jane’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I will repay you somehow. I swear it.”
“You owe me nothing,” Jane replied, returning the pressure. “You are my sister. My dearest sister. I would give everything I have to help you.”
They sat in silence for a moment, hands clasped, before the practical necessities reasserted themselves.
“Anne will need to go to London soon,” Elizabeth said, thinking aloud.
“She announced this morning that she and Mr. Darcy would marry by special licence, that there was no reason to wait. She will have to stay at the Gardiners’ house, I imagine, to be near her supposed family during the wedding preparations. ”
Jane nodded. “Then I must accompany her. Must pretend to be delighted for my sister’s good fortune, must help her prepare, must act as though I suspect nothing wrong.”
The thought of Jane being forced to play such a role made Elizabeth’s chest ache. But Jane was right. They needed someone close to Anne, someone who could move freely without arousing suspicion.
“You will need to obtain a lock of her hair,” Elizabeth said, forcing herself to speak the words. “Fresh hair, cut when you have the other ingredients and are ready to make the potion. Can you find some excuse to help with her hair? Perhaps offer to dress it for the wedding?”
Jane’s face showed distaste for the deception, but she nodded with determination. “I will find a way. I can be convincing when necessary, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth knew that. Knew that beneath Jane’s gentle exterior lay a will as strong as her own. Jane would do what needed to be done.
“And you?” Jane asked. “What will you do? You cannot simply appear in London. Surely Lady Catherine would never allow Anne to attend the wedding, considering how displeased she must be that Mr. Darcy is not marrying her daughter.”
This was the part of the plan that Elizabeth had been dreading.
She took a slow breath, Anne’s damaged lungs protesting, and forced herself to meet Jane’s eyes.
“I must convince Lady Catherine that family unity requires our presence. That Mr. Darcy’s marriage is too important an occasion for his aunt and cousin to miss, regardless of Anne’s health.
It will not be easy, but I think I can manage it if I am careful. ”
Jane looked sceptical. “Lady Catherine is proud and stubborn. She will not want to attend a wedding she disapproves of so vehemently.”
“No,” Elizabeth agreed. “But she is also conscious of appearances and family duty. If I can convince her that absence would look like petty spite rather than justified disapproval, if I can appeal to her pride, then perhaps she will consent.”
It was a fragile hope, dependent on Elizabeth’s ability to manipulate Lady Catherine’s character. But Elizabeth pushed aside her discomfort. This was survival. This was reclaiming what had been stolen.
Jane squeezed her hand again. Then her expression shifted, becoming more practical. “We will need to coordinate carefully. I must know when you arrive in London, must be ready with the ingredients and Anne’s hair. We cannot afford mistakes once everything is in place.”
“We will find a way to communicate,” Elizabeth promised. “Colonel Fitzwilliam helped me once. I believe he will again, so look for him to bring you notes from me.”
Jane nodded, then carefully lifted the grimoire. She held it with both hands. “I should take this with me. Study the recipe more carefully, ensure I understand exactly what ingredients are needed and how they must be prepared. And you cannot risk being found with it at Rosings.”
Elizabeth’s heart clenched at the thought of losing the grimoire, her only proof. But Jane was right. If Mrs. Jenkinson discovered the book missing, the consequences would be severe.
“Take it,” Elizabeth said, releasing her grip. “Keep it safe, Jane. We will need it when the time comes.”
Jane tucked the grimoire carefully inside her gown. Then she rose from the fallen log, her movements graceful. Elizabeth pushed herself upright as well, her legs trembling.
They stood facing each other in the dappled sunlight, two sisters separated by impossible magic but united in determination to reverse it. Jane reached out and pulled Elizabeth into another embrace, this one briefer but no less fierce.
“Be careful,” Jane whispered against Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Do not let them suspect anything. Do not take unnecessary risks. You must survive long enough for us to execute this plan.”
“I will,” Elizabeth promised, though the words felt hollow given the weakness spreading through her borrowed limbs.
“And you be careful as well. Anne is dangerous, Jane. She has studied this dark magic for years, and she will not surrender her prize easily if she suspects we have discovered her deception.”
Jane drew back, her lovely face showing understanding but no hesitation. “I will be the perfect, supportive sister. I will smile and congratulate and never let her see that I know she is not my Lizzy.”
They parted after one final embrace, Jane heading back toward the parsonage while Elizabeth turned toward Rosings.
Elizabeth watched her sister’s retreating figure until Jane disappeared among the trees, then began the laborious journey back.
Each step sent fresh waves of exhaustion through Anne’s failing body, and Elizabeth had to stop regularly to catch her breath.
But beneath the physical weakness, beneath the fear and uncertainty about whether their desperate plan could possibly succeed, Elizabeth felt something she had not truly experienced since waking in this nightmare.
Hope.